


Countdown to Infinity: Paradox (Old Edit- Announcement for Revamped Chapters!)

by raf1988



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Excalibur (Comic), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: AU-Doctor Strange (2016), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe-Odin Lives, Baby Teddy Lupin, Canon Divergence - Post-Thor (2011), Canonical Character Death, Dumbledore Lives, F/M, Harry Potter is a Prince of Asgard, Harry is Lord Potter, Hydra (Marvel), M/M, MCU/HP Crossover, Master of Death Harry Potter, Misguided Dumbledore, Multi, Order of the Phoenix AU, Post-Deathly Hallows AU, Severus Snape Lives, Sirius Black Lives, Sirius is Lord Black, Stephen Strange is Heir of Emrys, Time Travel, Wizarding Politics, Wizarding Traditions, Ásgarðr | Asgard (realm)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-04-07 12:25:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14080923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raf1988/pseuds/raf1988
Summary: In 2014, as Harry Potter caught the infamous Elder Wand in his grasp and watched the shriveled body of his most hated foe collapse in the inescapable throes of Death, he dared to hope that the future could indeed become brighter...But he was wrong.Five years later, he finds himself among Magical Britain's last pockets of survivors, his world ravaged by both the remnants of the fallen Dark Lord's forces, and a unanticipated invasion by the alien hordes of the intergalactic warlord known as Thanos, the Mad Titan.Faced with the imminent destruction of not just his nation, but the world, Harry invokes ancient and forbidden magic and makes the ultimate bargain with the God of Time and Space, initiating a last desperate gamble to completely alter the timeline in order to give himself a chance to break the manipulations of both the Dark Lord and his nemesis Dumbledore. Harry's journey through time opens the path for him to discover new links to hidden family, forge new alliances, and give the Earth and all its defenders a chance to match wits and powers with the ultimate Evil as the universe hurtles towards...The Infinity War.*See chapter 4 for Author's Note concerning further updates.





	1. Prologue: A Desperate Bargain

**Author's Note:**

> The rights of _Harry Potter_ belong to J.K. Rowling and other associated entities. The rights of Marvel's _Thor_ , _Doctor Strange_ , _The Avengers_ , _Captain America_ , and _Excalibur_ belong to Marvel Sudios, Marvel Entertainment, Marvel Comics and other related entities. 
> 
> Any recognizable dialogue or plot points from these properties are used for the purpose of setting up and moving the plot of this story, or connecting original plotlines with canonical events. 
> 
> Original characters, plotlines or dialogue utilized by characters in this story are the property of raf1988.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry Potter initiates a plan to open a pathway through time when years of losses reach its zenith with the invasion of mysterious monstrous creatures who murder the few people closest to the war-hardened Boy Who Lived, prompting him to seek asylum in the past with his godson.
> 
> His efforts summon an emissary of the God of Gateways and Transitions, who extends two life-changing tasks to Harry in return for the cosmic aid he desperately seeks...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter will feature several major deaths, although the details will not be necessarily explicit. 
> 
> This chapter will also mention M/M relationships and a brief mention of polyandry, which might be offensive to some. Reader's discretion is advised.

 

 

**Chateaux de Lasogwyn**

**Potter Estate**

**Northern Wales, Albion**

 

**July 1, 2019**

**  
**

 

Pain.

 

It was all he could process. It lanced through his trembling limbs, causing a broken cry to burst out of Harry Potter's clenched mouth as he attempted to make it unto his feet.

 

At his side, he could hear his companion, his godson Teddy Lupin crying profusely in his own exclamation of pain as he struggled into an upright position. Slowly he blinked, adjusting to the dim lighting of the destination that they had narrowly escaped to. As he tried to fight through the constant burst of agony flowing through his body, his eyes teared up as he recalled the horrific events of the past five years that had led him and his loved ones to this moment.

 

Five years ago, Harry had dared to hope that he as well as the rest of Magical Britain had passed through the most hazardous parts of their collective experience and with Tom Riddle finally and inescapably dead, that they would be able to quickly rebuild their society into one where all of wizardkind could be accepted as equal, regardless of their status as Muggleborns or Halfbloods, or Purebloods. He had dared to dream that he could finally have a quiet life, discovering the things that he enjoyed and with loving friends and family move forward from the horrors of the several years previous. He had vainly expected that the shed blood of so many heroic witches and wizards would actually count for something, and propel their broken society into a new era.

 

Well, he had been played for a fool. 

 

Voldemort might have perished, but that merely bought them a season of grace. Time enough to bury their dead and make naive, hopeful plans for the rebuilding of Magical Britain, for the healing of old wounds. 

 

It turned out that even in death, old Tom managed to gain the last laugh. The survivors of the Battle of Hogwarts were blindsided when mere days after their decisive and costly victory, war sprang up anew when the continental contingent of Voldemort's Death Eaters surged over the borders into Britain and struck an unexpected and fatal blow against the fledgling resistance.  

 

Numbly, Harry recalled the horror of witnessing Molly Weasley, as well as Ginny...sweet, brave, fiery Ginny literally being ripped to shreds by the dark curses fired by Antonin Dolohov and several of his Continental allies less than a week after the Battle of Hogwarts, as they held their vigil for Fred Weasley at the Burrow. Harry had been heartbroken when at the end of that skirmish, it was revealed that nearly all of the Weasleys save for Bill and Percy fell to the Death Eaters' wands. 

 

Despite of the deaths of so many senior officials in Voldemort's bastardization of the Ministry of Magic, his stamp on the already corrupt government proved to be near impossible to efface. After the Weasleys' shocking murders, the survivors once again became the subjects of a nation-wide manhunt, and labeled as terrorists. 

 

Over the next six months, their numbers dwindled further with the deaths of Kingsley Shacklebolt, Filius Flitwick, and prehaps most tragically of all, Minerva McGonagall. That stalwart, courageous woman sacrificed her life to fuel the magical wards of Hogwarts, causing them to be nearly impenetrable to the Death Eaters and thus securing a sanctuary for the Resistance. 

 

A year after Voldemort's death brought about a even more painful series of losses. In a mission to securely transport newly discovered Muggleborn witches and wizards to Hogwarts, their caravan was ambushed by scores of Dementors, werewolves and most terrifying of all, a coven of East European vampires who allied with the Death Eaters' new leadership. For hours, Harry and his dearest friends Hermione and Ron attempted to stave off the Dark creatures seeking to kill the future of their world without help or backup. It was near dawn when help finally came from the most unexpected corner...but far too late to prevent vampires from ripping Ron's head from his shoulders, spraying blood, torn muscles and gory bits of internal organs over the bloodstained streets and dementors from bestowing the Kiss upon a grief stricken but defiant Hermione Granger, her soulless husk drained dry by the ravaging creatures. Harry himself would have met a similar fate were it not for sheer dumb luck and the surprise arrival of his former rival Draco Malfoy, and fellow Slytherin Blaise Zabini. 

 

 

Harry survived—but at the cost of Malfoy losing an arm and Zabini suffering from cursed scarring over the left side of his face. 

 

After the soul shattering loss of his closest and dearest friends,Harry threw aside all of the cautionary wisdom and 'advice' from his long dead Headmaster Albus Dumbledore and began to delve into the deeper and far more volatile—in other words, darker magics; magics that far exceeded the limitations and boundaries of mere words, but were based on the ancient methods of crafting the great spells—blood, flesh, and bone. Embittered by so much loss and death, he had determined to himself that he would use whatever he had to in order to finally put an end to the War, even if it meant using the enemy's own weapons against them. 

 

It was at that point that he made a startling discovery. 

 

Harry learned that the Hallows, the very ones that he believed destroyed, were far more enduring than any living person had dared to dream. He could never forget the day that he woke from a troubled sleep, only to discover all three Hallows arrayed at his feet, completely whole. At first he had continued to spurn the use of them, but after a harrowing battle which cost him his original, restored wand—this time beyond any hope of repair, Harry gave in to the inevitable and at last claimed all of the Hallows as the last legitimate descendant of the Peverell brothers. And as the last living descendant of the ancient wizards who crafted the powerful artifacts, he became the Master of Death.

 

Slowly, but surely the tides began to turn as Harry and his newfound allies in Malfoy and his associates stopped holding back. And after another year of bloodshed, Harry blasted the Lestrange brothers and Dolohov out of existence, and burnt the Ministry of Magic to the ground. 

 

With Britain's government literally in ashes, nearly eight thousand lives snuffed out and the economy virtually bankrupt, Harry Potter became the de facto Minister for Magic. Taking charge of his ancestral title as the Earl of Lasogwyn, Harry with the aid of the now crippled but still competent and deadly Narcissa Malfoy appealed to the International Confederation of Wizards for financial aid and the aid of their defensive forces. With their aid, the last pockets of the Death Eaters were finally rooted out and exterminated and the various vampire clans and wolf packs which had aided the Death Eaters in their occupation of Britain were either killed or banished from Britain. Hogwarts was slowly rebuilt with the seized properties and vaults of the traitorous elite who had aided Voldemort and his successors, and became the new center of the British Magical World. 

 

As he led out in the reconstruction of the broken nation, Harry found himself taking charge of the guardianship of his godson, the young toddler Teddy Lupin, his grandmother Andromeda Black one of the last victims of the Death Eaters' reign of terror.

 

And as days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, slowly Harry felt his hardened heart begin to open up again. His little Teddy's innocent prattle proved more effective than any counseling or healing at melting away the grief that had compounded upon him for so many years. This opened a door that brought one of his last surviving friends, Neville Longbottom and his comrade-at-arms Blaise Zabini into a far more intimate relationship with himself. 

 

Over the next three years, Magical Britain underwent massive transformation in the process of reconstruction. Electing to toss out the decades-old policy of watering down, and outlawing the ancient traditions of Britain (a policy that Harry learned was one of the primary recruitment tools of the Dark Lord), the fledgling government actively promoted the Old Religion throughout the Isles and sought to preserve and elevate it's importance among the Muggleborn who entered their world, as well as the many Half-blood and even Pureblood families that had long lost sight of their ancestral teachings and ways of life. 

 

The surviving noble bloodlines which managed to survive the horrors of the past twenty-five years, made up the new Wizengamot and reclaimed many of the traditional powers that had been stripped away slowly, but surely by proponents of the late Albus Dumbledore's views on Wizard-Muggle relations. It was a nasty and rather eye opening shock to Harry as he began to uncover decades of policy and negligence on the part of the once-great leader which Harry found to his horror directly contributed to the sad state of affairs that provided a breeding ground for the Dark Lord to assemble his forces throughout the duration of the Two Wizarding Blood Wars. 

 

How many lives were lost over the years, because of one man's views and prejudices? How could someone that Harry once thought to be for all intents and purposes, the greatest sorcerer of his time, Merlin reborn, prove to be so _foolish_ and short sighted? How much could have been different if he had not alienated so many people and left well enough alone? 

 

These questions burned in the back of Harry's mind in the nights, when curled next to his lovers and child, he found himself pondering the path that led him to where he found himself to be. He found himself constantly considering the "what-ifs" and "could-have-beens". 

 

Still, he soldiered on and continued the re-forging of Magical Britain, re-named by the new leadership of the nation by it's ancient name, Albion. Life began to grow less difficult and painful to endure. Once again, Harry found himself daring to dream of a brighter future, this time not only for himself, but now for his adopted son and his life companions. 

 

But now...

 

Harry found his thoughts breaking off, as the shrill, plaintive cry of his four and a half year old son pierced through his mental ramblings. Gingerly, Harry limped over to his son and gathered him into his arms, shushing him and feeding him as much spare energy as possible to heal him from the damage sustained from portkeying out of the implosion of Hogwarts Castle. 

 

"Shh luv, I've got you, I've got you," he crooned to the toddler, rocking him backing and forth as he attempted to calm the hysterical child. It was nearly impossible for him to refrain from bursting into hysterical sobs himself as he shielded his son from the grisly sight that lay before him. Silently, tears ran like a river down his face, as he turned burning eyes on the still warm corpse of his consort, Neville Longbottom. Neville was relatively untouched save for the gaping hole in his side, an ever-widening pool of blood spreading beneath his still form. Once warm chocolate eyes were now dull, devoid of any sign of life. 

 

Harry released a shuddering breath as he continued rocking back and forth, the horrific tableau in front of him a stark testament to the carnage that had enveloped the remnants of the wizarding nation in a matter of moments. He still could barely process what had only occurred only an hour ago...

 

The attack had come out of nowhere. 

 

The ancient former site of his alma mater had been re-purposed over the past few years to host the fragile, but rapidly rebuilding government of Albion. With the advice of the surviving members of the Wizengamot and the small number of the New Ministry officials who had been granted approximate posts to the former titles of the previous institution that had been destroyed by war, Harry had announced an Inaugural Ball to celebrate the establishment of Hogwarts as the new home of the Ministry, a fitting and enduring symbol that would galvanize the survivors of the Blood Wars to place their trust in their nation and support their new government in its bid to re-establish it's global presence among the many nations that comprised the Wizarding World. 

 

About nine hundred individuals had been present for the event, representing the new leadership of Albion as well as the heads of the various clans and Houses, and of course the men and women who were leading out in the creation of the new Auror Corps. 

 

Albion had enjoyed a long period of watchful peace and with the security measures that the Ball's organizers had arranged for the event, no one was expecting any catastrophic event to occur. 

 

Then with one earth shattering wail, the wards of Hogwarts fell.

 

Instant bedlam had erupted, with the active duty Aurors straining to prevent panic. Instantly, his Auror guard had himself, Neville, Blaise and Teddy bundled off towards the secure Room of Hidden Things as the other trained wizards and witches headed towards the Great Hall to investigate the cause of the wards' collapse. 

 

For a few moments, he had dared to think that they would be safe, that any potential uprising would be swiftly quelled and the appropriate measures taken to rectify the weaknesses in the ward schemes. 

 

Then the bloodletting started. 

 

Even within one of the most secure rooms in the entire castle, massive quakes could be felt as explosions rent at the ancient ramparts of the castle. Having requested a secure room where he would be able to monitor the cause of the disturbance, Harry and his family had been horrified by the inexplicable sight that they beheld.

 

Thousands of massive four-armed, demonic monsters smashed through the ancient walls and laid waste to the comparatively paltry defenses of the New Ministry. Black-skinned, with strange unidentifiable milky patterns scattered across their hideous and menacing forms, the monstrous humanoid beings boasted a height of nearly seven feet, with four heavily muscular arms, razor sharp fangs, and lethal claws. To Harry's amazement, the creatures were clearly extremely resistant to magic, as they did not fall to any but the most lethal of spells-a fact, that to their collective horror, damned the majority of the defending Aurors as the marauding hordes ripped through them in minutes. 

 

In less than an hour, the ancient castle was completely devoid of life apart from the demonic beings attacking, the brave but foolish house-elves that attempted to defend their home...and the small group of four who were enclosed in the relatively safe space of the Room. 

 

Sure enough, the beasts were soon attempting to smash their way through the magically reinforced walls that protected their refuge, prompting Harry to attempt to create a Portkey that could safely wisk them away to the only place where he knew he and his would be secure: The Chateaux de Lasogywn, the ancient Manor that served as the main Seat of the Potter family. 

 

 

As Harry had desperately attempted to create a portkey strong enough to pierce through the barriers protecting the Potter's Seat, Neville and Blaise, his brave and wonderful lovers had kept up a guard about him and Teddy, using all of their power to hold back the monstrous, four-armed creatures that had overrun the ancient castle and massacred nearly all of the stationed Aurors and officials who had assembled for what was to be the first significant social event held by the fledgling government since the end of the Blood Wars.

 

Caught in the intricate flow of the spell necessary to create a specialized Portkey, Harry had been helpless as the demonic beings finally succeeded in smashing through the secure Room and literally ripped Blaise apart in front of his horrified eyes in a matter of seconds before turning their ravenous gazes on his sweet Neville. The brave war-hero never even faltered, but had conjured massive gouts of magical flame and lightning to ward off the beasts and protect Teddy. But as the Portkey activated, yanking them to temporary safety, he had heard his husband's ear-splitting scream as one particular creature attempted to circumvent the multi-dimensional magic.  

 

 

 Only the inner knowledge of what he intended to accomplish gave Harry the strength to push aside his rage and bottomless grief, and enough peace of mind to turn his attention completely to calming his son down. It took several minutes, but soon Teddy was only sniffling and wiping at his face with pudgy, dirty hands. His hair, normally a brilliant shade of electric blue had shifted back to the somber brown that was his natural coloring. His wide eyes glistened with tears as he clung to Harry.

 

"Pa-Papa?" whimpered the small boy as he settled himself into the relative warmth and safety of his father's arms, "Are we's gonna die? Will the monsters eat us?"

 

Harry's heart broke at the desperation that he could hear in his little boy's words. Carefully he ran his hands through his boy's curly mass of hair, hugging him to his chest. 

 

"I won't let that happen," vowed Harry as he rocked his boy back and forth, "you and me and Uncle Neville and Blaise are going to be fine. I promise you, baby. We're going to make it through this." 

 

Desperately, he searched out the still face of Neville and found himself choking back sobs as he continued to watch the cooling blood soak into the back of Neville's head. He could only hope and pray that what he would attempt to do in the next several minutes would succeed. He didn't know how he would be able to move on, without his anchors to help keep him balanced. 

 

His plan had to work. 

 

It had to.

 

Pushing all of his thoughts and the nightmarish images that were now emblazoned within his mind, Harry focused on his current task. Slowly, the death grip that Teddy had on his torn and ripped battle robes slackened, and the little boy's racing heartbeat slowed into a smoother rhythm as he drifted off into sleep. When Harry was sure that moving Teddy wouldn't disturb the distraught boy, he settled the tiny bundle in his arms down on the marble floor using his outer robe as a makeshift pillow for the boy's head. Grimacing, he lurched to his feet and limped over to his dead lover, collapsing at Neville's side. Silently, Harry shifted his broken arm, using his good arm to draw out the reconstituted Elder Wand from his wand holster and began murmuring anti-inflammatory and numbing spells over the arm. As he progressed, he couldn't hold back the rattled sigh of relief as the tension and pain that had been rolling through him was slowly dissipating as he poured as much of his magic as he dared into the spells. 

 

Finally, Harry pointed the Elder Wand once more as he wrapped up his arm in a conjured splint to keep it immobile so as to avoid as much discomfort for himself as possible. He wasn't able to re-knit the bones, but if the desperate gamble he had conceived of during the worse months of the Blood War and hammered out with Blaise, Neville, Draco, Narcissa and the surviving leaders of the Resistance as a final resort proved to be as successful as they had hoped and dreamed, the spells would no longer be necessary. 

 

"There luv, that's you done," he murmured after the last spell had been cast. Trembling with fatigue and grief, he stared into still face of his lover, closed the short distance between them and softly, and tenderly kissed his cooling lips one last time in farewell before withdrawing. 

 

"Cheers, luv," rasped Harry as he settled unto his haunches while staring fixedly at Neville's...corpse for a brief moment that seemed to stretch into an eternity, before he broke his gaze and looked down at the watch that adorned his uninjured left arm. 

 

"We've not got long now," he murmured to himself. "One way or another, Teddy and I will be joining you and Blaise soon enough. Wait for me."

 

Rising from the spot where his dead lover lay, Harry steeled himself and with a sharply worded spell, banished Neville's remains before thoroughly cleansing the congealing blood from the floor. He couldn't stand the sight and also couldn't run the risk of the ritual site being contaminated. After ensuring that the space selected for his final gamble was ready, he steeped himself again for the last unpleasant task he would need if his scheme was to have any hope of working. 

 

"Kreacher!", he said sharply. "Kreacher!"

 

His heart leaped to his throat as he waited for a few tense moments. Would the taciturn Black elf be able to answer his call? Or had he to fallen victim to the massacre that had just occurred?

 

Just when he was starting to despair, a faint 'pop' and the shimmering of displaced air signaled the arrival of his elf. The breath Harry was holding was released in a rush as he sagged in relief. 

Kreacher's skin was mottled by small nicks and scratches, a thin line of a turquoise liquid seeping from a particularly long scratch along his arm. But the old house elf appeared otherwise unharmed and was bowing low at the sight of his Master.

"Master is unharmed," croaked the aged elf as he lifted his head. Bulbous eyes glowed with power, but also a hint of worry and relief. "Master has found shelter from the Outsiders. Kreacher is relieved, yes he is relieved."

Harry swallowed convulsively. He wished that he could include the brave elf with him in his plan, but the alterations and potential price that would have to be paid would be too steep. He would have to leave him behind, as his former Master Regulus did over twenty years before. He swore to himself however, that if his plan succeeded, he would do everything possible to forge a stronger bond with the being who had grown over the years to be among his most trusted servants. 

 

"I have a task for you Kreacher," he said roughly, "a task that is very risky. Go to Grimmauld Place and retrieve the Master Time Turner stored in the ritual chamber. There will also be a bronze coin with the image of the Roman god Janus next to it. When you have found them, return at once. I will give you further instructions. Use all speed. You know what hunts us. You must avoid them at all cost. Do you understand?"

 

"Yes Master, Kreacher understands." The aged house-elf bowed low again before Disapparating with a snap of his gnarled fingers.

 

 As the minutes began ticking by, Harry occupied his mind by setting up the intricate runic design he would need in order to shape the ritual he intended to use. Ensuring that the sleeping Teddy was safely outside of the range of the ritual space, Harry began carving the runic patterns for the working. As carefully as he dared, Harry focused his magic as he carved the linked runes, charging then with the magic of his intent. It was a tedious task, but he persevered. After a good half-hour, he was staggering, sweat dripping down his face as he finished the final configuration of runes. When the last time had been carved, he nearly collapsed in exhaustion. Only his sense of purpose managed to keep him upright. 

Turning towards his sleeping adopted son, Harry applied a weightless charm, then a levitating charm as he drew the sleeping toddler into the final, and smallest runic circle. Gently setting him in place, Harry took a moment to survey the massive ritual circle and nodded in grim satisfaction. 

Harry and Teddy were surrounded by eight circles composed entirely of runes, which were to serve as the physical representation of the parameters that he desired for the ritual's effects. The largest of the circles was the outermost circle which had been crafted in a counter-clockwise pattern, or widdershins. Each successive circle was progressively smaller in size until the innermost circle, which held just enough space to surround himself and his child. 

His plan was risky, and to his knowledge had never been attempted in centuries, but Harry was beyond caring of the risks, or potential price for what he intended to ask for. If what he intended to do could work, he would gladly pay any price—any price that is, that would not endanger his Teddy. 

 Scarcely had Teddy been settled gently into position when Kreacher appered once more. Harry's eyes gleamed with triumph as he caught sight of what seemed at first glance to be a large medallion being levitated by Kreacher. 

 

He had succeeded. Quickly, Harry summoned the larger prototype Time Turner from Kreacher, using a thread of his magic to keep it afloat as he left the runic rings and stood before the visibly strained house-elf. 

 

"Were you seen?" 

 

"No, Master. Kreacher arrived in Master's home and secured what Master orders Kreacher to find. But Kreacher fears that Master is in grave danger. Kreacher can feels the presence of the Outsiders drawing closer. They are close, they will be here soon."

Harry's face tightened at Kreacher's words. He had feared that those abominable creatures would have a way of tracking their prey. He had been right. Time was running out.

Swiftly, Harry held out his uninjured hand, hardly daring to breathe as Kreacher placed the final key ingredient to his plan within his grasp. Once he was gripping the cool metal in his hand, he gazed sadly at his house-elf. 

"Kreacher," said Harry urgently, "I order you to return to the most secure of the Black properties, and activate the wards to its fullest extent. You must not return unless I call for you again. You have been brave, and have given honorable service to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Should anything happen to me, you must bond with and protect Narcissa Malfoy at all costs. You must not be seen. The risks are too great. Do you understand?"

 

Kreacher bowed low, bulging eyes glimmering with grief.

 

"Kreacher will obey Master's last orders."

 

"Go." 

 

Immediately, Kreacher vanished as he went to a hopefully secure location. 

 

His last task discharged, Harry used a wordless spell to levitate himself back inside the boundaries of the runic circles. He transferred the coin to his bound arm and summoned the Elder Wand into his hand.

 

It was time. 

 

Breathing deeply, Harry raised his wand and focused his energy as he stared at the floating Time Turner above his head. If anything went wrong, there was no telling what the disastrous results could be. Harry recalled what Hermione had said to him nine years before, when they had utilized the standardized Time Turner in their quest to save Sirius Black from being Kissed by the Dementors:

 

"... _awful things have happened to wizards who've meddled with time_..."

 

"I know 'Mione," he muttered to himself, "but worse things will happen if I don't meddle."

 

Pushing aside his maudlin thoughts, Harry took a deep breath before he went past the point of no return.

 

_'Reducto!'_

 

In a searing flash of light, the Time Turner exploded, releasing countless thousands of golden particles. Instantly, Harry dived into his task, pushing pure magic through the Elder Wand to vanish the broken glass, and simultaneously isolate the granules of pure temporal magic. Twirling the Elder Wand as a whip, Harry divided the particles into eight separate streams, which he then directed to coat the runic patterns in each concentric ring. As the particles rained over their specified circles, the runes began to glow as the magic was absorbed into the patterns. 

Seamlessly, Harry levitated the bronze coin into the air. He then lifted his bound arm and split the skin of his palm with a surgically precise _Diffindo_. He clenched and unclenched his fist rapidly to force the blood through. As pearly drops of crimson liquid began to well up, Harry held his bleeding hand over the coin. He splashed the coin with nine drops of his blood, before using a minor healing spell to seal the cut. He then directed all of his magic towards the most critical part of his rite.

 

 _'Ostarius venire ad me, Dominus Ianus; et oblinito foedus ego hodie a vobis',_ intoned Harry firmly, his green glowing with power as he invoked the deity he sought a boon from. _'Puer iter per sanguinem suum, at non obigata sunt. Et incolumes esse'_

With a high pitched vibration that sounded almost uncomfortably like a scream, the blood coated coin blazed with light as it was transformed into fiery energy which surged throughout the eight layered circle. The energy felt like a superpowered Expulso, it was all Harry could do to keep himself from being hustled out of the circle while still maintaining his focus on his incantation. 

 

As he chanted, Harry sent out a wordless plea towards the deity he was seeking to invoke, a plea for clemency if not for himself, then at least for his son.

 

_'Peto, ad salui conductus in praeterium vita. Et mitte per angelum nuntius ad significandum consensum'_

 

Harry could barely breathe, the air heavy with ancient arcane energies. The incandescent light seared his eyes with its brilliance, but he didn't dare close them. Feeling utterly drained and stretched, Harry dug deep into his magical reserves and poured even more of his magic into the circles as he sealed the incantation with final words of imperious command.

 _'Sic fiat!'_ he cried out, feeling the burn of the magic as it cascaded from him. _'Sic Fiat! Sic Fiat!'_

 

As he pronounced the sealing words, the circles flared with a light so terrible, that Harry could do little more than scream in agony as he collapsed unto the ground, barely managing to avoid crushing his boy under his weight. The burning sensation now felt like a roaring conflagration. He barely could tell where he ended and the magic began. 

 

 _I beg of you_ , Harry pleaded Janus, or any deity willing to listen to his supplication, _Grant us sanctuary. I am willing to pay any price. Just save us, or if not me then at least my son!_

All of a sudden the light blazing in the runic circles abruptly winked out, plunging the vast ballroom into darkness. Harry began to stir, but froze as he felt the sense of a powerful magical Presence only a few feet away from himself and his slumbering son! He grew very still as he began to stretch out his senses in an effort to discern the identity of the unfamiliar presence.

 

 _ **The Gatekeeper has heard your bleating cries**_ , a cold voice proclaimed suddenly in the darkened room. _**Speak!**_

 

As Harry lifted up his head, he beheld to his amazement a tall figure standing before him, nearly eclipsing Hagrid in height. However, that was where any similarities to his old half-giant friend ended.

 

Whereas Hagrid was a broad, swarthy fellow, this being was muscular, yet slim. Unlike Hagrid's shaggy haired and wild appearance, the being standing before him made old Lucius Malfoy in his heyday look like an impoverished vagabond. His immaculately coiffed bronze hair gleamed in the darkness, to say nothing of his golden skin. His eyes were completely opaque and yet they burned with ancient wisdom and limitless power. He was robed in a burgundy colored Roman style toga, made of a material finer than even the highest grade of acromantula silk. A coronal wreath of golden leaves adorned his head.

 

 _ **Well?**_ demanded the clearly more-than-human being, irritably. _**Why have you summoned me?**_

 

"My-my Lord," said Harry warily, one hand poised over the Elder Wand, "I ask for safe passage for my son and I to travel to the Time that was, to set right grievous wrongs that have paved the way for Abominations to invade the isles of Albion, bringing death, destruction, and madness in their train. I humbly beseech the Gatekeeper to grant me the boon I seek, to right these crimes for my people, that they may live."

 

 _ **Oh?**_ scoffed the Messenger, as he remained unmoving from where he had materialized. _**Do you take the Gatekeeper for a fool? Do you not merely seek life for you and your whelp, an escape from hardship and the burden of sacrifice and responsibility?**_

__

"I'm not afraid of hardship!" Harry retorted, his fear giving way to indignation. "I've experienced loss and pain my entire life. I know well what is to bear responsibility for others, to sacrifice even basic kindness for the sake of my people!"

 

At that, the golden being seemed to be taken aback. His haughty expression turned curious and faster than Harry could process, he found his face locked between his fingers as eyes bottomless in its depths bored into his green eyes. Though Harry didn't feel the telltale signs of someone rifling through his memories, he couldn't hold back the shudder that went through him. It appeared as if his very soul was being laid bare before those pitiless eyes. 

 

It might have been no more than a minute at most, but to the young wizard it seemed like ages before he was released and the being stepped back, having the expression of one who has learned something incomprehensible. 

 

 _ **It appears that you are much more than you appear to be. Lord Janus agrees with the terms of your bargain**_ , the luminescent being announced without warning. _**However the methods by which you and the child must travel by in order to maintain the timeline are vastly different. Are you prepared to pay the price for your boon?**_

 

Relief flooded through Harry at the pronouncement, and he felt himself sink to the floor. 

 

"I am prepared," he affirmed.

 

_**Then listen well and know this for your boon. The child does not exist in the Time to where you would seek refuge. Thus he must be physically transported through time, and will arrive at the stroke of midnight, on the second day of the seventh month. The child will be Marked by my Master in order to preserve him from being affected by the cosmic balance. This will alter him in body, though not in mind. A part of your essence will be utilized to secure his protection. He will arrive at the same place where he departed. Upon his arrival, it will be for you to secure his safety past that point.** _

_**On the other hand**_ , continued the Messenger when Harry had shown his acceptance of his words, _**you already occupy a place within the Time which you seek. Therefore, it will be your essence which will be sent back, rather than your body. Save for your memories and knowledge, you will be as you once were.**_

__

Harry bowed towards the Messenger in acceptance. 

 

"I accept the wisdom of the Gatekeeper," he murmured gratefully. 

 

 _ **A word of warning.**_ The softly uttered words had Harry freeze in concern.

 

_**You will awaken in your past form before at the moment that the magic of the Earth is at its height. It is also the moment that the one to whom you were bound in prophecy will be reembodied. Knowing this, are you still willing to pay the price?** _

 

Harry scowled at that news. He figured that he would have to deal with a revived Voldemort once he returned to the past, but to have to return to that night! He still had nightmares about the events of that day, when Cedric Diggory was killed in front of his eyes. Still, it was an opportunity. Perhaps he could change even more than he had anticipated when he and his allies had conceived of this plan during the Blood Wars. 

 

"I am willing," he answered at last.

 

The golden-skinned Messenger nodded solemnly.

 

 _**As payment, the Gatekeeper requires only the fulfillment of two tasks: that you take the pains to learn of the full extent of your familial heritage, both that of your father and your** _ **mother** _**. What you learn will be a boon not only in making the changes you seek, but in ensuring a different outcome when the Outriders once again descend to ravage your world. If you and your people fail to prepare for this threat, you will not be able to ask any boon of the Gatekeeper again.** _

 

"I will pay such a price most gladly," said Harry, somewhat confused. What could be so important about his mother's relatives that the god of Gateways would require him to search out the details? 

 

 _**The second task is to immediately recover and lay claim to the relics you refer to as the Deathly Hallows. The power of the Hallows has for too long been wielded by the unworthy. Failure to accomplish this task will serve as an indicator of**_ **your** _**own worth.** _

__

As Harry bowed once more in acceptance of his tasks, the Messenger stared at him, a most curious look of interest on his face.

 

_**You are a most interesting subject, Harry Potter. There is more to your history and potential than anyone has dared to guess, including yourself. You may think you know; who you are...what's to come...,but you have scarcely begun. My Lord Janus, the Gatekeeper will be following your life tapestry with great interest. Farewell.** _

 

Harry opened his mouth to question the supernatural being, but was instantly blinded as a huge pulse of magic rippled through the runic circles. Golden light, blazed about him, searing through the entirety of his being like liquid fire. 

 

Harry vaguely heard himself screaming at the top of his lungs, but soon found himself slipping away as with eyes rolling in the back of his head, he fell into darkness and knew no more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings and salutations! Welcome to the launch of a series of fics which will crossover the world of Harry Potter with that of the Marvel Cinematic Universe.
> 
> As the title might suggest, _Countdown to Infinity: Paradox_ is a fic designed to merge the story of Harry Potter and his friends and allies into the overarching story of the quest initiated by Thanos to claim the Inifinity Stones. 
> 
> While this specific story will only deal with the plotlines of Doctor Strange and Thor for the most part, this story will eventually culminate with Harry and members of Wizarding Britain joining the Avengers and their allies when Thanos and his armies descend on Earth.
> 
> Readers will notice that this story is set in 2019 and references 2014 as the conclusion of the Battle of Hogwarts. I'm adjusting the timeline of the HP world to fit in with the general timeline of the MCU.
> 
> While the story starting from the next chapter will not be canon compliant with HP, most MCU storylines will remain fairly canonical save for the necessary changes to include Harry Potter and related characters. The only notable exception will be that of Doctor Strange which will be altered in future chapters and the later plotlines of the Thor series, mostly related to Thor the Dark World and Thor Ragnarok. 
> 
> This fic will see an iteration of the British based superhero team Excalibur be formed, but it will be heavily altered so as to fit it in better with the MCU storylines. 
> 
> In any case, I hope that you all enjoy this fic! I'm really excited to start it, and I can't wait to see how I can incorporate the events of the upcoming Avengers Infinity War which will be released less than three weeks after this chapter is posted. It's going to be epic!
> 
> Please be sure to leave some feedback. If you love it, hate it, or don't get it...this will help me figure out how to better visualize and write out this story on a way that will be enjoyable to as many readers as possible. Comments are always welcomed as long as you are polite. Kudos wouldn't go amiss either. ^_^
> 
> Enjoy, and please review!


	2. Chapter 1: Disruption

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disembodied and sent hurtling through time, Harry is sent hurtling through time and finds himself once again an unwilling witness to the resurrection of his lifelong foe, the Dark Lord Voldemort. This time around, he refuses to play the helpless victim and decides to circumvent his bloody future in a direct confrontation with his nemesis that results in surprising changes to the timeline...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter will incorporate significant dialogue from the book Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. Any recognizable dialogue from the book is utilized for the purpose of furthering the plot and is not intended to assume ownership of material that belongs to J.K. Rowling and all associated entities.

 

 

 

**June 21, 2011**

**Graveyard**

**Little Hangleton, England**

**U.K.**

 

 

 

As Harry slowly came to awareness, all he was cognizant of was one thing:

 

His head felt like it was being split open by an axe, everything was whirling around on dizzying circles and he felt himself retch as his stomach fiercely rebelled.

 

In short, he hurt. A lot.

 

 _Where am I?_ he wondered internally as he attempted to push back the cascading waves of pain radiating through him. _What has happened? Has something gone wrong?_

So affected was Harry by the supernova of light that had struck him at the command of the Messenger, that he did not comprehend that he was hunched over on grass or that others were present until a thin, sibilant, and cold voice—a voice that tugged on his scattered memories, drawing a picture on his mind that haunted his darkest nightmares gave a frighteningly familiar command:

 

**_Kill the spare!_ **

 

At that command, Harry's eyes snapped open in horror.

 

His ritual had worked.

 

He was in the past!

 

And he was about to bear witness once again to a scene that unto this day remained one of the most horrific and tragic events he had experienced in his life. 

 

A sudden rush of fury unlike anything he'd experienced before erupted within him.

 

He would be _damned_ if he lay there like a tub of lard and let that—that beast rip Cedric from the world! 

 

He tensed as he heard the squeaky tones of Wormtail as he began pronouncing the words of the dreaded Killing Curse.

 

It seemed as if everything was moving at a snail's pace. Harry pushed past the agony and clutched his old Holly wand tightly. He saw that sickly green light begin to glow from the tip of the yew wand that belonged to him, and knew of only one way to ensure the younger/older boy's life.

 

' _Somnio totalum!'_ , hissed Harry, his furtively cast spell unheard over the roar of the Dark magic that exploded out of the yew wand and arced towards the Hufflepuff champion. 

 

The few seconds was barely enough. As the light was centimeters away from Cedric, he dropped faster than a sack of potatoes, like a marionette that had it's strings cut. As he collapsed, spread-eagled on the ground, looking for all intents and purposes as if he was dead, Harry felt a weight he didn't even realize he had been bearing fall off him, and a fissure of something approaching shock spread through him as he considered what he had just accomplished. 

 

He had just changed his past. His future.

 

Cedric was **_alive_**.

 

As the pain and disorientation faded, he couldn't hold back the small smile that broke across his face, even as he felt himself get hauled up and dragged over to the familiar marble headstone that was carved with a name shared with his lifelong nemesis:

 

TOM RIDDLE

 

Just like he recalled from his first experience at the Graveyard, he soon found himself tightly bound to the headstone. As the short, squat man fumbled about, insuring his bindings were tight enough, Harry began to chuckle, which soon morphed into gleeful laughter as he realized what the presence of this particular person meant for the future of someone Harry had cared for with all his heart before the older man's untimely passing. 

 

Apparently, his strange reaction was too much for the rat-like man. He drew back and slapped Harry across the face.

 

"Quiet, boy!", snarled the former friend of his parents.

 

Harry acquiesced to the demand*only to give a venomous smile to the man once known as Peter Pettigrew.

 

"Hello, traitor," hissed Harry to the startled Pettigrew. "I should have known you would have gone sniveling to your Master. Enjoy yourself while you can, because once I get free of these ropes, I promise you I will make you  _l_ _ong_ for death."

 

He leered as Wormtail quailed, visibly shaking as he lurched out of Harry's reach. He reached into his dirty cloak and withdrew a piece of black cloth, which he stuffed into Harry's mouth, before scurrying away to tend to the massive cauldron bubbling away.

 

Rather than give into the urge to fret or panic, Harry elected to close his eyes and marshal his available magic. He already knew the direction this horror story was going to take, no need to plague himself with anticipation the second time around. Instead, he began calming his body, directing his magic towards the site of the venom spreading from the acromantula his past self had enoucntered in the Maze less than a hour ago. Drawing on the knowledge he had gained over the years, he subtly coaxed tendrils of his magic to attempt to neutralize the spread of the poison, and if nothing else, at least contain it. 

 

Several minutes into his patchwork attempt to heal himself, he could feel himself grow slightly less sluggish and more alert. He shifted a few more tendrils of his magic and began to feed it into his muscles. He bit back the groan as he felt the magic flooding through his body. 

 

He needed every advantage possible, if he was going to get both himself and Cedric Diggory out of this alive and in one piece. 

 

Already, he could feel the foreign presence of the Horcrux in his mind, resonating with the presence of that damn snake. While the temptation to destroy Nagini was nigh unbearable, he knew that the time wasn't right. 

 

The horcruxes would have to wait for another day. Most of them, that is.

 

Perhaps there was something he could do about at least one specific one however...

 

His thoughts were broken as the high, frigid voice of Voldemort issued a command to Wormtail:

 

_**Hurry!** _

 

"It is ready, Master," Harry heard Wormtail say.

 

_**Now!** _

 

As Wormtail opened the bundle of robes, lifting up the twisted, deformed and infantile form of the Dark Lord, Harry felt the familiar burn of the scar, his own personal Horcrux reacting to the Dark Lord's presence.

 

Unlike his previous life, this time Harry snarled in rage as he found himself forced to witness the reembodiment of his parents' murderer.

 

He drew on more and more of his energy, twining it around his fingers. He would need to be ready, the moment that he was released.

 

So focused was he on readying for the inevitable battle, that he was completely unprepared for the sharp burn as Wormtail sliced into his skin, and fumbled about with one functioning hand in order to catch the blood in a glass vial.

 

He watched with narrow eyes as Wormtail staggered back to the cauldron with Harry’s blood.

 

As the traitorous rat poured the vial of his blood inside the cauldron, the liquid within turned, instantly, a blinding white. Wormtail, his job done, dropped to his knees beside the cauldron, then slumped sideways and lay on the ground, cradling the bleeding stump of his arm, gasping and sobbing.

 

The cauldron was simmering, sending its diamond sparks in all directions, so blindingly bright that it turned all else to velvety blackness.

 

Suddenly, as it did in his past, the sparks emanating from the cauldron were extinguished. A surge of white steam billowed thickly from the cauldron instead, obliterating everything in front of Harry, so that he couldn’t see Wormtail or Cedric or anything but vapor hanging in the air.

 

Harry's thoughts went out to his precious baby boy, who was even now hurtling through a temporal warp of some kind, set to arrive a little over a week from now. 

 

He steeled himself for what he knew was coming. He couldn't afford any mistakes, not if he wanted to greet his son when he arrived. 

 

Sure enough, after several long moments, he heard that cold voice echo through the thick curtain of steam which blanketed the graveyard:

 

"Robe me."

 

Harry stared silently as the wounded Wormtail laboriously managed to throw the black robes he had carried his Master in over the monster's head. 

 

As the bestial man turned to face him, once again Harry beheld the serpent-like features of that monster. He was as loathsome as he remembered. His face and body as pale as a bleached skull, faint traces of actual scales glinting from his body. Long-limbed, like a spider, his fingers reminded Harry of hairless acromantula legs as he caressed his newly corporealized form in near breathless wonder. His eyes for a moment, blazed crimson in the night sky before fading into frigid colbat blue. 

 

And his power...

 

Despite his victory over him in his past, despite all of the knowledge that Harry had gleaned since Voldemort's death in order to hone his own magical abilities; a part of Harry still quailed as he felt that madman's venemous aura, pulse and recede very much like that of the great serpents. It was dark, and icy-cold; It snarled and was razor-sharp. It felt bottomless,  like a vast, black ocean.

 

He had a much greater appreciation now for why this wizard's name was held in such infamy. With the kind of menacing aura that he was broadcasting, clearly he was one of the most powerful practitioners of magic that Harry had ever met in his short life. 

 

Black rage bubbled in Harry's chest, as he watched Voldemort from his captive position at the headstone. 

 

The newly reborn wizard flexed his long fingers before reaching into a deep pocket and pulling out a familiar bone white, yew wand. Gently, he slid his fingers up and down the length of his wand, before raising it and pointing at the hapless, blubbering form of one of his least efficient servants. 

 

Instantly, the Dark vapor of his magic abruptly thickened, as Wormtail was picked up and slammed against the foot of the very headstone that Harry himself was tied too. 

 

Harry couldn't refrain from the vicious sneer that formed as he beheld his parents' betrayer weep pitieously as he wrapped his outer robes around the stump of his arm, the cloth shining with blood. 

 

 _Good on ya, you filthy cretin_ , he snarled internally as he observed the way Voldemort smiled cruelly, obviously taking a great deal of pleasure from his servant's suffering. 

 

"My Lord..." choked Wormtail, "my Lord...you promised...you did promise..."

 

"Hold out your arm, Wormtail," said Voldemort lazily.

 

Wormtail wept tears of relief as he extended his bleeding stump towards his Master.

 

"Oh Master...thank you, Master..."

 

His clear expectation however proved to be in vain as Voldemort laughed at him, eyes glittering with cruel malice.

 

"The other arm, Wormtail."

 

As the rat whimpered and begged, the Dark Lord yanked his unblemished left hand up; pulling the sleeve up, exposing the man's Dark Mark. 

 

Staring intently at the mark, the Dark Lord pressed the tip of his wand to Wormtail's flesh. 

 

Instantly, pain seared across Harry's forehead as the Horcrux of his past self reacted to the magic radiated from the Dark Mark. Harry gritted his teeth; he refused to give Voldemort the satisfaction of hearing him pained by his presence. 

 

"It is back," said Voldemort quietly, "they should have all worked it out by now...and now, we shall see...we shall see who has the courage to return to Lord Voldemort..."

 

The older wizard bore a look of cruel satisfaction on his face as Wormtail let loose a fresh howl as the mark on his hand burned a deep opague.

 

"How many will be brave enough to return when they feel it?" he wondered aloud, staring off into the shadows of the graveyard before he cast his eyes towards the starry night sky. "And how many will be foolish enough to stay away?"

 

 As the revived Dark Lord turned to face Harry, he hurriedly began clearing his mind and erecting false trails in the event that Voldemort attempted to use Legilimency to root out information from him. He made sure that his face was carefully exhibiting appropriate fear and pain.

 

The older 'man' smiled cruelly as he surveyed Harry's bound form.

 

"Ah..." hissed Voldemort, "Harry Potter...our guest of honor. You stand, Harry Potter, upon the remains of my late father. A Muggle and a fool...very much like your dear mother. But they both had their uses, did they not? Your mother died to defend you in as a child...and I killed my father, and see how useful he has proved himself, in death..."

 

"You presume too much, old fool!" snarled Harry as he glared at the Dark Lord, "to dare equate our parentage. If my mother was about as useful as your wretched father, how hopelessly pathetic are  _you?_ The oh-so-mighty Dark Lord, brought low by a woman, and a Muggleborn to boot! How...embarrassing."

 

Wormtail squeaked. The only reaction that Harry's barb had struck home was the slight widening of Voldemort's eyes as they bled red momentarily before reverting back.

 

Voldemort smiled, a dark smile that promised pain and retribution to come, before he laughed and pointed towards the large, dilapidated Manor on the hillside.

 

"You see that house upon the hillside, Potter? My father lived there. My mother, a witch who lived here in this village, fell in love with him. But he abandoned her when she told him what she was. … He didn’t like magic, my father…

 

“He left her and returned to his Muggle parents before I was even born, Potter, and she died giving birth to me, leaving me to be raised in a Muggle orphanage… but I vowed to find him… I revenged myself upon him, that fool who gave me his name… Tom Riddle…”

 

Personally, Harry found his monologuing very self-absorbing, but he listened to every word, as it served to remind him of the history he had learned about Voldemort in his original 6th year. Any hint of vulnerability, served as a potential weapon. And he would need every one.

 

“Listen to me, reliving family history…” said Voldemort quietly, “why, I am growing quite sentimental. … But look, Harry! My true family returns…”

 

Harry peered in the direction that Voldemort was facing and went taut as he heard the swishing of cloaks fill the graveyard as wizard after wizard materialized in the shadows and behind headstones, even the yew tree. 

 

As Harry saw the hooded and cloaked wizards slowly, cautiously approaching their risen Master, for the first time, Harry found himself loosing much of his carefully cultivated composure. Teeth bared, Harry's eyes fairly glowed with incandescent fury as he caught sight of a particular Death Eater, who though masked as the rest sported flowing platinum-blond hair. 

 

Lucius. 

 

Harry could feel his magic sharpen as he caught sight of the traitorous, craven Death Eater. He recalled how he had discovered that Lucius Malfoy had quickly reverted to form days after the Battle of Hogwarts and aided Dolohov and the Lestrange brothers in the Burrow Massacre. 

 

Desperate to erase the shame of his disgrace in the final months of Voldemort's reign, he had grown to be among the most vicious and despicable of the surviving leaders of the Death Eaters.

 

His debauchery and lust for power became so great that he led out in the raid that obliterated St. Mungos and personally had a hand in the rape and murders of Neville's parents, along with the Lestranges, already guilty of torturing them into madness. 

 

In the end, he crippled his wife and attempted to kill his own son when they refused to follow his downward spiral.

 

Of course it didn't end well for him. Harry ended up dueling him while Neville dispatched the Lestranges, but it was Narcissa Black, who cast the spell that killed Lucius slowly, rotting him from the inside out. He ended up dying a fearful death within the bowels of the dungeons of the Malfoy family seat. 

 

To see that murderer alive and well...after what he did to his Neville...it was hardly endurable. 

 

It took a great deal of effort for Harry to restrain his magic, but he forced it back. There was too much riding on his survival to lose control now. 

 

But he wouldn't forgive, nor would he forget. 

 

By flesh and blood and bone, he would see to it that Lucius' days were numbered.

 

In the meantime, Voldemort stood in silence, watching as his followers drew near to him. At last, one of the Death Eaters fell to his knees, crawled toward Voldemort, and kissed the hem of his black robes.

 

“Master … Master …” he murmured.

 

The Death Eaters behind him did the same; each of them approaching Voldemort on his knees and kissing his robes, before backing away and standing up, forming a silent circle, which enclosed Tom Riddle’s grave, Harry, Voldemort, and the sobbing and twitching heap that was Wormtail. Yet they left gaps  
in the circle, as though waiting for more people.

 

Voldemort, however, did not seem to expect more. He looked around at the hooded faces, and though there was no wind, a rustling seemed to run around the circle, as though it had shivered.

 

“Welcome, Death Eaters,” said Voldemort quietly. “Thirteen years … thirteen years since last we met. Yet you answer my call as though it were yesterday.… We are still united under the Dark Mark, then! Or are we?”

 

He put back his terrible face and sniffed, his slit-like nostrils widening. At that, several stirred, shifting uncomfortably. Harry was darkly amused to see Lucius Malfoy's hands trembling as he clutched his cane a little tighter. 

 

“I smell guilt,” said Voldemort. “There is a stench of guilt upon the air.”

 

Harry began to tune out at this point, having lived through this once before. While it amused him to see these monsters prostrate themselves before him and get a lick of the Cruciatus for their pains, he put that out of mind, once more drawing on his magic and spooling the threads together as he awaited the start of their eventual duel. As Voldemort continued berating his followers, Harry sent a thread of magic out and focused it on the wand that was still in the grip of the unconscious Cedric. Snagging it, he focused on subtly weaving enough of his magic around it, that it would be easy to summon it to his hands. 

 

Harry's ears perked up after several minutes as he heard Voldemort transition to his speech concerning the night that Harry had survived the Killing Curse. It was most interesting, as time had never allowed for him to research the truth of what had occurred that night. While he doubted Voldemort knew the exact reason for his survival, he knew that the elder wizard, long versed in sorcery would have some idea.

 

He stilled as Voldemort strolled over right next to him, causing the eyes of all of the Death Eaters to swing towards both of them. 

 

 “You know, of course, that they have called this boy my downfall?” Voldemort said softly, his now red eyes upon Harry, who gritted his teeth in an effort to avoid screaming as his scar began to burn fiercely. “You all know that on the night I lost my powers and my body, I tried to kill him. His mother died in the attempt to save him — and unwittingly provided him with a protection I admit I had not foreseen. … I could not touch the boy.”

 

Voldemort raised one of his long white fingers and put it very close to Harry’s cheek.  
“His mother left upon him the traces of her sacrifice. … This is old magic, I should have remembered it, I was foolish to overlook it … but no matter. I can touch him now.”

 

Harry felt the cold tip of the long white finger touch him, and once again thought his head would burst with the pain.

 

Voldemort laughed softly in his ear, then took the finger away and continued addressing the Death Eaters. “I miscalculated, my friends, I admit it. My curse was deflected by the woman’s foolish sacrifice, and it rebounded upon myself. Aaah … pain beyond pain, my friends; nothing could have prepared me for it. I was ripped from my body, I was less than spirit, less than the meanest ghost … but still, I was _alive_. What I was, even I do not know … I, who have gone further than anybody along the path that leads to immortality. You know my goal — to conquer death. And now, I was tested, and it appeared that one or more of my experiments had worked … for I had not been killed, though the curse should have done it. Nevertheless, I was as powerless as the weakest creature alive, and without the means to help myself … for I had no body, and every spell that might have helped me required the use of a wand..."

 

His head aching due to Voldemort's touch, Harry blocked out the rest of Voldemort's speech, and attempted to regain his equilibrium through breath control. In and out, in and out he breathed, slowly relaxing as he sunk deep into his mental space, allowing himself to be filled with his magic. 

 

 He didn't surface again, until he felt his ropes abruptly get cut and he fell on the ground, illiciting a burst of laughter from the wizards assembled there. He was roughly lifted to his feet, and a wand shoved into his hand.

 

He started a bit at the feel of the magic coming from his wand, and now fully alert, looked at his opponent who stood mere feet away from him. He was smiling again, his burning eyes filled with malicious glee.

 

"You've been taught how to duel, Harry Potter?" 

 

Projecting his voice to sound as nonchalant as possible, Harry shrugged carelessly, all the while honing the tendrils of his magic he had attached to Cedric' s wand.

 

"Have I been taught?" he drawled, throwing a shit-eating grin at his nemesis. "Well, that remains to be seen. But...with _you_ as my opponent, how hard could it be?"

 

The assembled Death Eaters froze, and Voldemort's nostril slits flared, along with his magic.

 

Harry chuckled aloud, carefully maneuvering himself into a battle stance. 

 

"I find it so surprising, Tom that you feel the need to posture in front of these fine, upstanding citizens. I never imagined that you needed to have an audience to get it up—"

 

Quickly, he twisted his body in order to avoid the wordless _Crucio_ that was suddenly aimed his way by the irate Dark Lord. He laughed harder, smiling mockingly at Voldemort.

 

"Ooh! It appears I have touched an old wound. My apologies, Lord Voldemort. I forgot how sensitive you can be when your supposed victims aren't trembling with the fear and despair that no doubt, you feel they richly deserve..."

 

Slowly, but clearly mockingly, he inclined his head towards Voldemort.

 

_< To the death then, false Lord of Serpents. May the best man win.>_

As Voldemort's eyes widened at his use of Parseltongue, Harry erupted into motion. Yanking on the tendrils of his magic, he summoned Cedric's wand to him while flooding his body with magic as he verbalized his first spell:

 

_'Lux!'_

 

Harry began glowing with an unearthly light which burst out over the circle, causing everyone present to scream or curse as their eyes were seared by the brightness.

 

Having bought himself a few precious seconds, Harry struck with a flurry of spells, even as Voldemort bellowed with rage and sent back a flurry of his own:

 

_'Bombarda Maxima! Fumos! Ignis Incende! Incarcerous! Protego Totalum! Excudo!'_

_'Crucio! Defodio! Avada Kedavra! Avada Kedavra!'_

 

Harry's first spell blew up the headstone of Tom Riddle, causing the circle of Death Eaters to scatter from the shrapnel and debris. His second spell created a thick curtain of smoke, obscuring Harry from his enemy's sight, saving him from the Gouging Curse and the multiple Killing Curses that went his way, by giving him time to leap behind a row of headstones.

 

A few Death Eaters weren't lucky, as Voldemort's spells cut down three of his followers. The others scattered, or attempted to come to their Lord's defense. Their attempts were hindered by the wall of fire that cut them off.

 

Voldemort batted away the Incarcerous effortlessly and shielded himself from the flames. A wordless barrier shielded him from the worst effects of the Hammer of Govannon, though it was still enough to cause him to stagger back a few steps. 

 

Harry shot off several bursts of sparks at the Dark wizard, while leading him away from the security of his servant's. He ducked and rolled to his left as a nasty crack sounded as a powerful spell smashed into another headstone before causing it to melt into a puddle of ooze. 

 

"You can not hide from me, Potter!" roared Voldemort as he swept his hands apart, releasing a concussive burst of energy that ripped through the graveyard. Harry flooded his own magical barrier with his magic and rode out the blast.

 

Swiftly casting the Disillusionment Charm on himself, Harry stepped out and began to fire again:

 

_'Defodio! Reducto! Stupefy! Excudo! Crucio! Crucio! Crucio!'_

 

This time, the Dark Lord managed to deflect all of them, and appeared startled for a moment before growing darkly amused. Though he couldn't see Harry too clearly, due to the thick fog and the Disillusionment Charm, he moved unerringly closer to where Harry was sheltering behind a small marble crypt. 

 

"Oh, _Harry_ ," he breathed out, nostrils flaring as he walked leisurely towards him. "I can hardly believe that you had it in you! Such dark magic! Whatever could Dumbledore be teaching you, I wonder?" 

 

He laughed in delight, and with a careless twirl of his wand, banished the fog. 

 

"Is it not a pity that we must be against each other, when we can do so much more together? Once, I offered you a place at my side. I will do so once more. Swear your loyalty to me, Harry Potter. Enter my service, and I will teach you of magic that has not been seen since the days of Morgana le Fay. Together, we could do extraordinary things!"

 

 

 Stealthily, Harry crept out from where he was hiding and circled back towards the prone form of Cedric. Thinking fast, he sent out a tendrils of magic and activated the portkey. The Cup glowed with suppressed magic as he anchored his signature to it. Then he began subtly inching it closer to Cedric. He was fast approaching his limits, and he knew that in spite of his memories and knowledge, his magic currently was too immature to handle the spells that could grant him even footing with Voldemort. There was only one way that this duel could end; he would see to it that it ended on his terms and served a greater purpose.

 

He began to aim at Voldemort, but then froze for a brief moment as an important fact nudged itself to the forefront of his mind:

 

He had the chance, perhaps the only chance to apprehend Wormtail! As he recalled, the rat Animagus went to ground about this time, and didn't surface again until after the death of Dumbledore. It was imperative that he ensure his capture and interrogation. Not only would it ensure the freedom of his godfather, who had died a criminal in the eyes of most of the country, it would also prove the most effective way of exposing Voldemort.

 

Changing direction, he started searching for the traitorous rat, and found him huddled away near the scene of the duel, but far enough that he could not easily fall victim to a stray spell.

 

A dark smile spread across Harry's face, and he carefully dodged the scattered and wild movements of the Death Eaters who were trying to find his Disillusioned form. Soon, he found himself mere inches from his unsuspecting victim.

 

For the moment, switching back to his wand, he pointed it at Pettigrew's back. Oh, he longed to blast the traitor out of existence, but other lives than his hung in the balance.

 

 _'Somnio totalum'_ , he whispered. He watched, pleased as the spell struck Pettigrew point blank. The older man reared up, mouth open to scream...then slumped to the ground in a dead faint.

 

Quickly, Harry focused more power through the Holly wand and transfigured the unconscious man into a pebble, upon which he laid a tracking charm, if ever the pebble was lost. Stooping down, he picked it up and secured it in his pocket with a Sticking Charm.

 

That task taken care of, he doubled back around and headed straight for Voldemort, who was yelling and snapping orders at the Death Eaters.

 

   
Switching back to Cedric's wand, Harry aimed a Reductor curse at Voldemort in response, but to no surprise, Voldemort detected the incoming spell and easily batted it away. 

 

 Voldemort's eyes narrowed as he turned from the crypt where Harry had been, and he cast his gaze around the graveyard. 

 

"On second thought," he said softly, "it appears that you still have not acquired an appreciation for your betters. Pity."

 

As he started back in Harry's general direction, the younger wizard fed a bit more of his magic to the portkey, drawing it closer to Cedric, until it was touching his skin. He looped more of his magic around it, to ensure that he would be drawn by the portkey's energy field and positioned himself a couple of feet away from Cedric. Quickly he switched wands once more before he cancelled his Disillusionment Charm. He stood stock still, as Voldemort approached. He didn't worry about the remaining Death Eaters who were still milling about, wands drawn out, but not daring to raise a hand to Voldemort's prize.

 

He kept a steady gaze on the Dark Lord as he came to a stop a few feet away. He would not hide from his parents' murderer. He would face him head on. 

 

Voldemort's eyes were blazing red now as he stared back at Harry.

 

"Are you prepared to join your parents, Potter?" he asked quietly.

 

A small crooked grin spread across Harry Potter's face.

 

"I am," he replied, "but know this: if you strike me down, I shall arise, even more powerful than before."

 

Voldemort didn't even blink.

 

"Goodbye, Harry Potter."

 

Two voices were raised in juxtaposition, their cries echoing throughout the graveyard like a gunshot.

 

_'Avada Kedavra!'_

_'Portus!'_

 

A poisonous green light burst out of Voldemort's yew wand, arcing in a jet of pure death. It flew like an unerring arrow towards it's victim...

 

...who opened his arms wide, as if in welcome of Death itself. Just as the green light slammed into him, he glowed blue and abruptly vanished, along with the prone form of Cedric Diggory, leaving only one memento of his existence behind.

 

A wand, eleven inches in length and made of holly, with a Phoenix feather as its core...neatly snapped in two.

 

 

**o0o0o0o0o**

 

 

**Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**

**Triwizard Maze Entrance**

**Scotland Highlands,**

**Wizarding Britain**

 

 

 

 

"—It's been so long since they've gone into the maze...I wonder if they've made it to the cup?"

 

Lost in thoughts of his own that had been percolating for some time, fourteen year old Neville Longbottom completely missed the question aimed in his direction...

 

 ...until a sharp nudge in his ribs broke him out of his reverie and caused him to swing his head around only to be greeted by a thirteen year old girl, with a light dusting of freckles and fiery red hair, her face drawn together in a way that had any of her siblings paid attention to her, would have reminded them uncomfortably of their mother. 

 

Neville didn't have that kind of insight, but one glance at her scowling features, and he was stammering away, in an attempt to apologize.

 

Impatiently waving off his apologies, Ginny Weasley turned herself back towards the entrance to the mammoth series of magic-infused hedges, which composed a part of the Third Task of the Triwizard Tournament.

 

As Neville joined her in facing the direction where the entrance lay, he noticed in the row of seats below the best friends of Harry, Hermione and one of Ginny's many older brothers, Ron. They were huddled together, murmuring quietly, too quietly for Neville to hear. Still, he was able to see the look of intense worry on Hermione's face. Ron appeared to he trying to cheer her up, but not even he look entirely convinced that things would be entirely sanguine.

 

It had been a very difficult year for Harry, especially the first weeks after his name unexpectedly came out of the Goblet of Fire. Unlike a large number of his classmates, Neville _knew_ that Harry didn't put his name in. He had seen the way the blood had drained from his face when the Headmaster had shouted his name. And more importantly, he had been observing Harry for three years, in class and in the boys dormitory.

 

Harry had never wanted applause or popular acclaim, all he wanted was to be _normal_.

 

And that's one of the reasons why Neville found Harry to be one of the most appealing and interesting wizards that he knew.

 

Not that he would ever admit as such.

 

Even _he_ had a measure of self-preservation after all.

  
His musing on his enigmatic dormmate was broken by a slight nudge to his shoulder. Looking up, he saw fellow Gryffindors Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas grinning at him. Confused, Neville stared back at them.

 

"What?" he muttered.

 

"Oi, Longbottom!," said Seamus as he waggled his eyebrows up and down suggestively. "Sniffing around Weasley's baby sister, eh? Mighty brave of you, that."

 

Neville's eyes darted between the two teens, disbelievingly.

 

"What? Ginny?"

 

Then his brain caught up with him as he figured out what exactly the Irish wizard was insinuating, and he flushed bright red.

 

Seamus opened his mouth to say something, but then a rising buzz began to spread throughout the crowd. The murmured whispers then broke out into cheering, the band at the foot of the stands launching into a triumphant refrain. All three boys rushed to the edge of the stands and so the sprawled forms of two teenage boys which had abruptly appeared at the edge of the maze entrance.

 

A few rows over, Neville could hear the triumphant roar of Cedric Diggory's father, Sir Amos Diggory while just below him, he Hermione seize a startled Ron into a deep hug as she jumped up and down.

 

Neville didn't dare give expression to the glee that filled him at the sight of that messy mop of nearly black hair. As nonchalantly as could be, he edged himself out from where he was seated and started to make his way towards the level where Granger and Weasley were.

 

Just then, a shrill scream—not of exhilaration, but of sheer horror split the air.

 

Everything and everyone stopped. Startled, Neville swung his head towards the section of the stands where the representatives of Beauxbaton were clinging to a distraught Fleur Delacour, who continued to shriek, pointing towards Cedric and—

 

A feeling of dread filled Neville with awful foreboding then, and almost unconsciously, he scurried down towards the lower rows of stands, closer to the edge of the Maze.

 

He saw Headmaster Dumbledore and Professors McGonagall, Snape, and Professor Moody rush towards the two boys, who still hadn't made any movement since their arrival.

 

Heart pounding so hard, he could hear it with his ears, Neville strained to hear what they were saying. He saw the Headmaster look for a moment, more furious than it seemed he had ever been capable of, before he seemed to wilt in front of them. McGonagall, Neville was startled to see, had tears streaming down her face, her hands shaking as she knelt next to the Headmaster. And Snape...

 

Neville had always been frightened since First Year by the cold, and venomous Head of Slytherin house. He had seen him with a variety of expressions as it related to Harry Potter (and himself), and each one was more hate-filled and disgusted than the last. Never had he seen Snape look so... _empty_ , like a marionette whose strings had been cut.

  
It was that devastating expression of utter defeat on Snape's face that revealed the unspoken truth to Neville. Numb, he didn't even feel himself drop abruptly to the floor, or hear the shouts of the Minister for Magic as he attempted to find out what had occurred; nor did he see the broken expressions of shock and despair on Hermione and Ron's faces, or hear the enhanced voice of Professor Flitwick instructing all of the spectators to remain in their seats as Dumbledore and Snape levitated the prone bodies of both Cedric and Harry and began the trek towards the castle.

 

All he felt was the overwhelming sense of loss.

  
_He's gone. He's gone._

  
_Harry is dead._

  
_I...I never got to tell him, how I really felt..._

  
_And now, it's too late._

  
_It's too late._

 

 

 

**o0o0o0o0o**

 

 

 

 

 **Astral Plane**  

 

 

 

When that sickly green light hit him, all Harry knew was darkness.

 

It seemed like he was floating through a realm of pure darkness; devoid of sound, or sensation, or knowledge, or fear...

  
It could have been a few seconds; it could have been thousands of years, but in that space outside of time, there was only silence.

 

Then suddenly, Harry could _feel_...

 

He felt himself lying flat against a hard surface. And as he slowly became aware of himself, and his nakedness, Harry realized:

 

He had been here before.

  
That knowledge, is what gave him the impetus to open his eyes. And once again, he was surprised.

  
This time, he wasn't in a cosmic version of King's Cross. Instead, as Harry parted the mists, he found himself in a vast, golden hall.

 

Harry gaped as he attempted to take in the enormity of what was being revealed to him as the bright mists receded around him. 

 

It was massive! It made the Great Hall of Hogwarts look like a dirty hut in the middle of scorched earth and mud! 

 

Everything about him, the pillars, the very floor upon which his bare feet trod, all of it was made of various grades of solid gold. It was simultaneously, the most stunning and most terrifying sight that Harry had ever laid eyes upon. 

 

He took back his former confidence in his knowledge of his location. Where _was_ he?

 

As Harry turned to face the center of the massive Hall, he gasped. There, at the center of the immense hall stood a incredible golden dais that went up several levels. And at its center was a massive golden throne. It looked vaguely Celtic in origin, and had numerous Celtic symbols and runes etched throughout its frame. It was also of solid gold.

 

It seemed that his feet took on life of their own, as Harry found himself walking through the vast, luxurious edifice towards the most arresting feature of the gigantic room. The path seemed to stretch on endlessly, but all too soon Harry found himself at the base of the golden steps leading to the multi-layered dais upon which the massive throne sat. 

 

Harry was about to step up to the dais, but a strange thumping sound, coupled with a broken and agonized cry stopped him. Deja vu prickled at him as he slowly turned his head to the right of the steps. There, curled up as if to block out the unearthly luster of the rich surroundings, lay a diseased, red skinned, skeletal being. As small as a deformed baby, it's skin seemed to be sloughing off, and as it wailed in torment, Harry caught sight of blackened, needle-sharp teeth. 

 

He had seen this creature before once—when he had been in Limbo, just like today; he had seen this very creature curled up underneath a bench in the spiritual version of King's Cross. 

 

Harry's lips thinned as he glared at the feeble representation of Voldmort's, of Tom Riddle's diseased and permanently maimed soul. The soul fragment that had latched unto him as a baby, attempting to feed off of him, possess him. It had been only thanks to the mysterious means by which his mother had laid an ancient protection on him that his sanity, his very soul had been preserved.

 

The urge to strike at that twisted thing was almost overwhelming, but Harry restrained himself. There was nothing to be done at this juncture. The soul fragment was gone, it could never hurt him or twist at his soul again. 

 

Turning away from the revolting sight, Harry once again began to ascend the golden steps of the dais, leading to the massive throne. When he approached it, he stretched out a trembling hand. It felt like a magnet was pulling at him, drawing him whether he willed or no towards the golden Seat. For a timeless moment, he simply stared at it, drinking in the exquisite detail and flawless design. Soon however, he could restrain himself no longer, and turning around to face the vast hall, he steeled himself to sit down on the throne...

 

_**I wouldn't do that if I were you, Harry Potter.** _

 

Harry started and swung his head to his left; there, next to the twisted remains of Tom's horcrux, stood the tall, golden Messenger who had served as Harry's intermediary to the God of Gateways and Travel, Janus. 

 

The golden-skinned being inclined his head towards Harry in a motion of respect.

 

**_It appears that congratulations are in order. My Master is pleased at how you have made use of his most gracious boon._ **

 

Harry bowed towards the Messenger.

 

"I'm humbled by this gift and intend to use it precisely for the purposes for which I requested aid. I'm grateful for your Master's continued solicitations on my behalf."

 

For some reason, the Messenger smiled mysteriously.

 

_**It is as I said, my Master has taken great interest in your journey, for reasons that are beyond my ken. I trust that in time, you will discover the reasons why Lord Janus has bestowed such favor upon you.** _

 

Turning towards the wretched being at his feet, the Messenger stood still for a moment and studied the pitiful sight. Then he waved his hand, and to Harry's amazement, the representation of Tom's soul piece dissolved into a dark, red mist that quickly disappeared into nothingness. He stared astonished at the Messenger, who stared back serenely. 

 

"That...that, what exactly did you _do?_ " breathed Harry. "The last time I was in Limbo, Dumbledore was here and he didn't dispose of the soul piece as you did." 

 

_**It would be impossible for Albus Dumbledore to replicate what I have been empowered by my Master to enact. He is a mortal, and though in possession of power and great knowledge, he is hindered by the limitations of mortality. I am not so encumbered. As to my actions, I have removed the abomination. To split one's soul to ensure a continuous anchor to the realm of flesh...it is an incredible affront to the Powers I serve. All things have its place in the cycle of life and death and rebirth. There is a dawn for all things, and there is a dusk. Not even the Gods are free from this principle of existence.** _

 

The Messenger turned contemptuous eyes upon the spot where the soul piece once lay. 

 

_**This craven wretch dared to aspire to a state that he was never destined to achieve, and paid the inevitable price.** _

 

The two of them stood silent for some time, Harry processing what he had witnessed and what he had just learned. He had known of course how Dark the making of a horcrux was, but he hadn't known how perilous it was and how it could affect their existence after they left the mortal coil. It was a fearful lesson, one that he would heed well as long as he lived. 

 

Eventually however, he turned back to the Messenger who had stayed in the same spot, giving Harry the time to understand. 

 

"If I may be so bold," ventured Harry to the Messenger, "why has my limbo state changed so much? What is this place? I've never seen anything like it!"

 

The Messenger smiled that strange, mysterious smile. 

 

_**Unfortunately, I am forbidden from naming this place. I can assure you however, that you will learn more about this Hall in the future. Suffice it to say, this is a connection to your family's ancestral past...and to its future. Further than that I can not say. But enough of such matters.** _

 

The Messenger strode up the stairs until he stood facing Harry on the grand dais. Once again Harry found himself captured by the inky depths of the Messenger's eyes, which seemed to peer through him.

 

 _ **Harry Potter,**_ said the Messenger, _ **you stand at the threshold of a great cosmic shift. There are things coming, Powers rising that will completely change the world of Men. These Powers may be good...or tend towards far less benign goals. Now, as you did before, you have a choice. You may choose to let go of your burdens and release the mortal coil and move on. Should you choose such a path, you may take your seat upon the Golden Throne. However, if you should choose to hold true with your bargain with Lord Janus, you once again have the opportunity of life. Should you choose such a path...**_

__

He waved his hand, and at the end of the massive hall, a great pair of gleaming, golden, doors parted. Harry's breath caught in his throat as he caught a gleam of brilliant light glinting off of what appeared to be a bridge...composed of a plethora of colored light?

 

 _ **That is the path upon which you must tread, if you would see yourself restored.**_  pronounced the Messenger solemnly. _ **I leave you now to make that choice. Farewell, Harry Potter. I do not foresee that we will meet again. May the blessing of the Gatekeeper accompany you as you travel between the worlds.**_

__

Harry opened his mouth to say something, and blinked. The Messenger had vanished. Startled, Harry swung his gaze to the left and to the right. Nothing. It was as if he had never been there to start with. 

 

Harry turned around and glanced once more at the golden throne, pulling on him with the overwhelming urge to claim his seat and explore his 'next great adventure'. It was so tempting, but it was also even easier than it was the last time he had received the opportunity to make the right choice. 

 

He tore his gaze away from the throne, and stepped down from the dais. Determined, Harry began the trek towards the bridge composed of what seemed to be crystallized Light. He had started this new path to save his nation and his family, not merely himself. He wasn't just living for himself. There was Teddy, who was still to arrive in the past in little more than a week's time. There were his friends who had lost there lives in the War in such horrifying and tragic ways. There were so much left to do. He couldn't be himself if he were to just abandon them to their fate.

 

And he also could not abandon the ones who stood by him, gave him the strength to get through the horrors of War, who brought love into his life again. He couldn't waste the precious opportunity he had been given to make a better future with them.

 

Stepping through the behemoth doors, Harry stared in awe at the prism of light that bridged the Hall. He gingerly stepped on the bridge, relieved to find that it was solid under his feet. He stepped forward briskly and began traversing the lengthy bridge. Eventually, the path led him to a massive golden structure, unlike anything that he had ever seen in his life. It's exterior was that of a dome which tapered into a spire that jutted into the heavens like a golden spear.

 

 

Awed by the spectacular sight, Harry stepped into the interior of the dome, and found himself within a spherical structure that was designed like a series of gears. In the middle of the chamber was a massive sword, with a golden hilt. Feeling a draw to it, he approached the awesome tool. Instinctively, he grasped the sword and fitted it into its slot. Using all of his might, he twisted it sharply and leaped back as arcs of lighting surged through the blade, and as the gears started shifting, a whirling tube-like structure slowly descended. It pulsated with light, and as Harry reached its mouth, it yanked at him. With a yell, he felt himself de-materialize, almost like a portkey, and everything burst into a cascade of light as he was sent hurtling back to the world of men.

 

 

As the Boy-Who-Lived vanished however, little did he anticipate how his temporary presence in the spiritual/astral plane would shake not only the events of the future of Magical Britain, but even affect the balance of power in the wider realms far, far beyond the reach of Earth. For his departure was noticed by several with the sight to see beyond that discernable with the physical senses, among whom was a notable figure who had remained just out of the young wizard's sight:

 

The figure was tall, on a height comparable to those of giant descent. He was clad in earthy colored robes, which were covered with a striking golden armor, etched about with several ancient runes and symbols, chief among them the symbol of the legendary tree, Yggdrasil. His bronze eyes gleamed with surprised interest as he contemplated what he had witnessed while surveying the astral plane for potential threats.

 

What he had seen was unexpected news of the greatest import. Concentrating, he allowed his sight to recede to the familiar physical realm, where he stood, a large, golden sword—twin to the very sword wielded by the young teenage boy to return to the mortal plane—gripped tightly on his hands. Immediately, he left his place along the recently shattered remains of what was once the Bifrost Bridge and began walking towards the citadel.

 

The All-Father must be alerted to what had been witnessed, immediately.

 

This would change the balance of power within the realm of Asgard, though whether for good or ill...he couldn't say.  
 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings!
> 
> As you have observed, Harry hits the ground running in this chapter. The changes he has made to the original timeline will have a profound effect on Harry himself as well as several notable characters in the canon. And he's just getting started. 
> 
> Unlike his previous experience tinkering with time, this time Harry has no intention of trying to keep things as close to his original life as possible. He will be happily kicking at the timeline, altering the destinies of not only the people closest to him, but that of the entire magical nation...and the very cosmos itself.
> 
> A point of clarification for some readers who may be wondering why Harry went through all of the trouble to use Cedric's wand for a portion of the duel with Voldemort. He remembers that in his original timeline, when he and Voldemort used their wands, they locked together, creating the Priori Incantatem effect. This time, he is actively trying to avoid having to deal with that experience, especially since he intended to sacrifice himself in order to destroy the final Horcrux. He does end up using it partly, because he uses certain spells that would land him a one way ticket into Azkaban if they were to be discovered during a reading of Cedric's wand in the event of a potential investigation. In order to avoid that, he switches from wand to wand. 
> 
> While the Priori Incantatem event actually served as a major plot point later on in the events of the Deathly Hallows (as explained by Dumbledore in the spirit plane), here it would serve no good purpose as of this point, Voldemort has no knowledge or particular interest in procurring the legendary 'Deathstick' that happens to be the most famous of the Deathly Hallows. He's perfectly content with his yew wand, is is suited best for him. Also, as will be seen in a future chapter, Harry will have a unique relationship with this timeline's Hallows. He won't need to go through the same steps he took in canon to gain their allegiance.
> 
> His original holly wand snapping in two at the conclusion of the duel has a great deal of significance, but I will leave it to you to postulate what that significance might be.
> 
> On a different note, I'm in the process of deciding whether to keep the eventual story that will place Harry and co firmly into the mix of things during my fanonization of the upcoming Avengers Infinity War, or if I will post those events as a sequel fic; set in the same world that's being built up in this story, but centered on the events of Infinity War proper. Due to the fact that Infinity War is coming out in only a little over two weeks, I want to start prepping the actual story so that by the end of opening weekend or at the latest, by the first week of May, I can have the first chapters of that event posted here for your reading pleasure. I have an idea of how I'm going to start that sequel, which would cover the events of Infinity War and the yet untitled Avengers 4 story. 
> 
> As I said in my last end notes, this current story will lead up to the events of Infinity War; but I wont lie. This story will take some time to get there, as I will be having Harry focus on dealing with the threat of Voldemort first and getting introduced to certain MCU characters as well as a few other special guest characters that will be included. Plus as I'm setting the events of the Third Task around 2011, that means that this is shortly after the events of the MCU's Big Week which means that I'm going to have to touch on the events of Marvel's The Avengers, Thor: The Dark World, and Avengers: Age of Ultron as well as original events that bridge the gap between Age of Ultron and Thor: Ragnarok. 
> 
> That's a lot of chapters!
> 
> So if you happen to have any particular opinion one way or the other, why don't you pop down below and share your thoughts in the comments section? 
> 
> Also, I'm also in the process of determining who the main members of my fanon/MCU version of Excalibur are going to be. I have a potential roster already, and the basic idea of how they will form and the relationship they will have to the Magical community and organizations such as SHIELD. 
> 
> All the same, are there potential heroes that you've seen on any of the MCU platforms (TV, Movies, etc) that *you* would like to see potentially join Excalibur (which as a clue of how I'm going to work them in, forms officially after the events of Captain America: Winter Soldier, though a few key members will be popping up during the events of The Avengers and shortly thereafter...)? Drop a line, and share who you would choose with me! 
> 
> Thanks to everyone who commented, even if just to mention how they enjoyed the fic. I appreciate all of the encouragement and questions! Thanks!
> 
> Enjoy!


	3. Chapter 2: Lost Wands and Unmasked Foes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As those who love him mourn, Harry finds himself once more in the mortal plane. As he adjusts to life once more, he comes across a spy, whose presence led to his confrontation with the Dark Lord, and decides to pay him back with a special 'message' for his foe. 
> 
>  
> 
> In the cosmos above, an ancient king ruminates on the crisis befalling his kingdom, and receives a startling report of a member of the family Royal who's recent trials set the stage for a massive shift in the cosmic balance...

 

**June 21, 2011**

**Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**  
**Infirmary**  
**Scotland Highlands,**  
**Albion**

 

 

  
The atmosphere of the infirmary was tense and full of despair, most of the people currently assembled there, focused on one of the two beds that had been magically cordoned off by the combined magical barriers of Madam Poppy Pomfrey and the Headmaster of the school, Albus Dumbledore.

 

 

The aforementioned Headmaster surveyed the group assembled, and then turned haunted eyes upon the still, pale and cooling figure laid out upon the stuff, white sheets.

 

 

Albus felt moisture collect in his eyes, but resisted giving in to the temptation to indulge in his grief. The situation had degenerated into chaos, and portended unseen calamities ahead. It also pointed to one inescapable fact:

 

 

The Dark Lord Voldemort...formerly known as Tom Riddle...had returned.

 

 

And unexpectedly, already claimed his great prize...

 

 

The death of Harry Potter.

 

 

Oh, how could he possibly have miscalculated? He had schemed, and planned, and set up countless measures in place, to mitigate the harm that young Harry would come to before he was ready for his final encounter with his parents' murderer.

 

 

But for Harry to lose his life, under his very nose?

 

 

Eyes shadowed, the aged Headmaster turned back to observation of the crowd that had assembled, as Poppy had done everything in her deceptively vast repitoire to somehow force life into those still lungs.

 

 

Minerva of course, was present as was her right as Harry's Head of House. His trusted colleague and potential successor, stood stoically a few steps away, doing her best to lend comfort where it was needed. Her eyes were red, betraying her initial reaction as she along with Severus and himself dashed from their place near the judges to investigate the prone forms of the two boys who abruptly appeared, having apparently secured the Triwizard Cup together, signifying a unique and historic tie.

 

 

She was attempting to sooth the distraught matriarch of the Weasley clan, Molly Weasley neé Prewett. The ginger-haired housewife was inconsolable, heaving sobs wracking her frame as she grieved the loss of one that she had counted as one of her own.

 

 

She was not alone. Over at an empty bed to the left of Harry sat his closest friends Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, fellow Gryffindors along with his younger sister, Ginevra Weasley. The girls were huddled together in each other's arms, sobbing quietly while Ron sat next to them like a stone sentinel, his eyes alive with pain, and regret.

 

 

A few feet off stood the twin sons of Molly and Arthur, also Gryffindors, Fred and George Weasley. Normally rambunctious, the two older teens had their eyes fixed on Harry, looking more solemn than at any point in their lives. Next to them stood their eldest brother, William Weasley, a former Head Boy at Hogwarts. While his association with Harry was far more limited than his younger siblings, he too was very solemn as he did what he could to keep a stoic face.

 

 

Poppy had refused to allow still more people to enter the infirmary, a decision that Albus felt most appropriate, given the circumstances. Had she relented, the room would have been filled to capacity with classmates seeking to learn of Harry's condition.

 

 

The chaos that would erupt in Hogwarts and the wider country when he revealed that Harry was dead...

 

 

Tom could have chosen no better method to advertise his revival to those with their ears to the ground.

 

 

He had already dispatched Severus to do what he needed to do in order to gain access to the Inner Circle of the Death Eaters, who no doubt were being reassembled at this time. His potential insights would prove invaluable for the preparations that would be needed to face Tom in battle once again.

 

 

It had, in fact been Severus who had alerted Dumbledore to the fact that something was deeply wrong. About twenty minutes before the arrival of the last two contenders for the Cup, Severus had grown extremely pale and hissed next to him, slapping a hand over the place along his arm where he had been branded into Tom's service so many years ago.

 

 

Both of them had been alarmed as the younger man's Mark had turned a deep opague before their very eyes for a number of minutes before fading slightly. Severus had been updating him regularly on the growing clarity of the Mark as well as the confrontations he had endured with Drumstrang's Headmaster and former lieutenant in Voldemort's forces, Igor Kakaroff. Dumbledore had been aware that Voldemort was making a move that would occur sometime near the end of the school year, possibly the end of the Tournament, but everything had appeared peaceful.

 

 

In hindsight, he realized that the burning must have been some kind of reaction to the resurrection of Voldemort...and an indicator that he had managed to gain Harry.

 

 

But it had not occurred to him until the appearance of the two teens, and the startled scream of young Miss Delacour. It was—to his eternal shame, only then that he realized what must have occurred and rushed out to investigate, followed by Minerva and Severus.

 

 

Though to the individuals in the room, it must have seemed like cold comfort; Cedric Diggory had survived the encounter, though what he had learned from investigating his wand was most interesting.

 

 

The teen himself, had been the subject of a rather powerful sleeping spell, that only wore off when Dumbledore, accompanied by his distraught parents had lifted it. The 7th year boy had fallen into a natural sleep, and after a thorough examination of the unconscious boy by Poppy, pronounced to be completely unharmed, save for the injuries which were accounted for by the prepared obstacles for the Champions.

 

 

His parents had been admitted to guest quarters in the castle, so they would be on hand when young Cedric woke up. Though he was of age, Dumbledore felt fairly certain that Cedric would be glad for his parents' presence, when the inevitable investigation would begin. Once the public announcement of Harry's death was made, Cedric's insights would prove critical to discerning the truth of what had occurred.

 

 

Depending on how much the older boy had witnessed, it might be possible to get the relevant factions of the Ministry to begin taking proactive steps to begin addressing this crisis.

 

 

Now however, Dumbledore had two exceedingly unpleasant conversations to endure with two individuals. He grimaced, as he thought of the less critical, but far more politically nuanced conversation he would need to have with the increasingly belligerent, and paranoid Cornelius Fudge.

 

 

He had already crossed the Minister, when he enforced his power as the Headmaster to bar the man from interfering with the investigation of both boys' conditions. The irate man had swept away, demanding answers and making veiled threats to 'talk about the current running of Hogwarts.'

 

 

Things had been strained enough with the two of them clashing over how to proceed with the Tournament, with the discovery of the demise of Bartemius Crouch, the Head for the Office of International Magical Cooperation, and one of the leaders behind the revival of the Triwizard Tournament.

 

The second one, was of far more importance to Albus, as it concerned a man whom he failed miserably for years, due to his assumption of the man's guilt in the betrayal of the Potter's, and the deaths of thirteen innocent people.

 

 

The old man sighed, as he prepared himself for the explosive conversation that would be had.

 

 

Sirius Black would be destroyed by the news. To be reunited with his godson, only to lose him again...

 

 

And he would blame Albus, of that he had no doubt.

 

 

A bitter smile crossed his lips.

 

 

And this time, Sirius would be right.

 

 

Looking over at his deputy, he saw her glance up from soothing Mrs. Weasley and meet his eyes, her own shining with helplessness and despair.

 

 

Focusing, Albus passed on a telepathic message—a very obscure discipline of the Master Legilimens—to her:

 

 

**_*Minerva, do what you can to have the room cleared out as soon as possible. There will be time enough to visit, and grieve in the coming days. I must head to my office, I am expecting an urgent meeting that I can no longer put off. I leave the children in your hands.*_ **

 

 

Her widening eyes the only indication that she received his unspoken message, the Gryffindor Head of House nodded imperceptibly to Albus, and with a grateful nod, he strode out of the infirmary and headed towards the his office, where he would face the grief and rage of an already broken man.

 

 

 _Forgive me, my boy_ , prayed Albus as he headed towards the tower where his office was situated, _forgive me for not permitting you to have the peaceful and loving life you so richly deserved. Forgive me for orchestrating so much, only for matters to wind up this way. Forgive me, for not seeing through the last wishes of your parents._

_Forgive me..._

 

  
  
**o0o0o0o0o**

 

 

 

**July 22**

  
**Hogwarts Infirmary**

 

 

  
It was 11:59 pm. The infirmary had been cleared of all of its visitors, a feat that took the combined authority of the Deputy Headmistress of the school, and the Matron to clear the space of the grieving friends of one Harry Potter.

 

 

  
Even Sirius Black had come and gone, able to visit the body for only a few minutes, due to the lateness of the hour and the nature of his criminal status. The broken Animagus had returned to a private room secured by the Headmaster to grieve, and summon Remus Lupin to Hogwarts.

 

 

With the castle still buzzing with the events of the final Task, curfew was temporarily extended to 1am, as the Professors, along with a contingent of Aurors had begun a preliminary investigation of the Maze to see what, if anything, could be determined about the circumstances that led to both Champions arriving, unconscious.

 

 

By the time the clock struck twelve, even the Matron was safely ensconced in her rooms, a bottle of fire whiskey on the table, glass in hand, as she toasted the fallen child who had made it his personal goal to claim a permanent spot in her Infirmary year after year.

 

 

Thus, there was no one present when the cooling body of one Harry James Potter twitched, and then briefly spasmed before stiffening, as Harry's eyes snapped open as he sucked in air greedily before he lurched up, his chest heaving.

 

 

  
For several minutes, it was all that Harry could do to take in successive breaths, as he looked wildly around him.

 

 

 _Where the bloody hell_ am _I?_

 

 

After a few minutes though, he found himself calming down and rational thought trickling back to him, as he recalled what had transpired only moments ago in the spiritual plane.

 

 

A small smile crossed his face as he recalled the way he had flown at impossible speeds through that prismatic bridge, virtually a pulse of light as he rocketed back to the realm of flesh and bone.

 

 

He'd never forget the sight of the Golden Hall or the Bridge.

 

 

Shaking his head, he shifted his head and was arrested by the sight of the tall, strapping teen who was completely unconscious, snoring very slightly as he slumbered.

 

 

Cedric! He was safe! Which meant that they must be in...

 

 

Harry grinned toothily to himself, as he realized what his presence here meant.

 

 

His plan had succeeded! He had successfully managed to avert Cedric's death and most importantly for Magical Britain, he had managed to contrive the destruction of one-seventh of Voldemort's maimed soul!

 

 

"One down," he muttered aloud, "six to go."

 

 

Stretching out his senses, Harry detected the tendril of his magic that was wrapped around Cedric's wand was stretched out, extending past the private suite of hospital beds that seemed to be where he and Cedric had been taken. It was possible that they had secured the wand in an effort to launch an investigation.

 

 

Concentrating, he untangled his magic from the other boy's wand and withdrew it into himself.

 

 

Giving himself a shake, Harry waved his hand in the air.

 

 

 _'Tempus,'_ intoned Harry, eager to see how much time had passed.

 

 

As the spell granted him the awareness of the current hour, Harry's eyes snapped open in surprise, and dismay.

 

 

"Merlin's saggy bollocks!", he swore as he swung himself out of the bed.

 

 

12:15! That meant that he had been in the spiritual plane for the equivalent of three hours! That meant that everyone thought him dead.

 

 

Cursing his lack of foresight for this unexpected development, he quickly cast a wandless Disillusionment Charm over himself, before deadening the air around his body so he could move without sound.

 

 

He must have been recovered around 9:45 or 10:00 pm. Most likely by Dumbledore, which meant that the Weasleys would be thinking that he was gone, as well as Sirius.

 

 

Sirius...

 

 

Exiting the Infirmary, Harry began making his way towards Gryffindor Tower. It was more than likely that his godfather was staying somewhere close to the dorms. His eyes burned, and Harry shook his head in a vain effort to dispel the queasy feelings if anticipation and nerves as he walked.

 

 

He hadn't seen the older man since he fell within the Veil seven years before. He would get the chance to see him again, to let himself get wrapped in his embrace. The closest thing he had to a father.

 

 

Eyes narrowed, he sneered as he remembered the circumstances surrounding his death.

 

 

Family or not, that bitch Bellatrix was the reason why he suffered without family for so many years until he had claimed Teddy and met...

 

 

Harry froze for a moment.

 

 

What was he going to do about Teddy?

 

 

In this timeline, Teddy didn't exist, but he was still technically the son of Remus and Nymohadora Tonks. How could he reconcile his son to the fact that his biological parents were alive? How could he reconcile them to the concept that the son they bore in the future was here, in this time, to stay?

 

 

That wasn't even taking into consideration the fact that it was most unlikely that in a future where Sirius Black didn't die, Remus would even give Nymphadora a second glance! While the older man had never confessed this to him, Harry had caught the longing glances exchanged in the weeks preceding the battle that took place in the Department of Mysteries between him and his godfather.

 

 

Who knew what could happen if that relationship finally blossomed?

 

 

How would that affect the future of his own child?

 

 

And then there were all of the Weasleys, that were alive in this time! And Hermione too!

 

 

Most importantly, how could he hope to contain himself when he caught sight of his lovers, healthy and untouched by the ravages of war?

 

 

How would he be able to prevent them from gaining access to knowledge that could prove to be harmful to them?

 

 

And how would he be able to ensure that Voldemort and his followers were eliminated, before they could deal such irreparable damage to the integrity of their society, that they would be incapable of reacting to those...demons who proved impossible to defeat?

 

 

  
Shaking his head at the enormity of the task, Harry abruptly changed directions and headed towards the stairs that would lead him out to the Courtyard and from there, unto the grounds.

 

 

He needed the freedom of the night sky to think. And plan.

 

 

The real struggle began here.

 

 

Minutes later found him flying through the air, Harry having borrowed one of the school brooms and, after casting a series of powerful Disillusion Charms, flying throughout the grounds to clear his head. and

As he flew, he began considering the preparations that would have to be made for the campaign that he would launch to gain the power and influence needed to restore Wizarding Britain to the power it had once enjoyed in centuries past.

 

He wanted to revive the old traditions in such a way that would educate Muggleborns and enable them to appreciate the new world that they found themselves in, while removing as much of the grounds for prejudice on the part of the pureblood families that were losing more and more and their heritage and influence due to the incompetence of the corrupt Ministry...and the studied neglect, if not deliberate actions taken by notable figures like Headmaster Albus Dumbledore and those who believed in his political views and agendas.

 

 

Harry had no delusions that he would be able to successfully accomplish everything that he would like to see done to reverse the decades...no, the centuries of neglect and corruption. He couldn't even assume that his friends and allies would all support the movements he would start initiating in the days and weeks ahead.

 

 

Regardless, he would do what he could, and hope that his example would inspire others with influence to take similar steps.

 

 

Harry let his thoughts go, and simply luxuriated in the pleasure of flying.

 

 

 

It had been so long, since he had utilized a broom for something as simple as as a a leisure cruise. For years after the death of Voldemort, he and his associates had been obliged to use them as their central means of transport...the Portkey Authority and Floo Network completely controlled by the Death Eaters.

 

 

He could feel tears prickle at the edge of his eyes as he directed the school broom he was using into a drop.

 

 

He would have the chance to see and use his Firebolt again; he had lost it during that battle in the original 2014 timeline when the Order of the Phoenix had endeavoured to get him safely to a prepared safe house, only to be ambushed by the Death Eaters in the skies, and ultimately by Voldemort himself.

 

 

Of course, he managed to get a comparable broom a few months after the death of Voldemort, but it was never the same. It didn't have the emotional tie to him that the Firebolt did.

 

 

Losing himself in the snap of the air as he streaked downward, he barely refrained himself from whooping with delight as he banked to the right and straightened up. Slowing down to a more sedate pace, he was preparing to touch down on the ground when he caught sight of a faint...ripple in the warm night air, and the brief flash of a metallic leg before it rippled again and became still.

 

 

  
Harry's eyes narrowed at the spot where he saw the flash of metal.

 

 

 _What_ , he wondered, _could account for something as weird as an invisible, metal leg..._

 

 

Then he snarled, as the answer came back to him:

 

 

Barty Crouch!

 

 

He had almost forgotten about the man who had tortured and held Mad Eye Moody captive for nearly an entire year!

 

 

The Death Eater who even Voldemort praised as his most faithful, must be attempting to make his way to his Lord, to bring news; of his death, most likely.

 

 

Why hadn't he been exposed by now? In the original timeline, he had already been exposed to the Dementor's Kiss!

 

 

He shook off the questions and directed the broom towards the edge of the Forest. Crouch would surely need to make his escape through the vast forest, as the wards...specifically the anti-apparition wards extended from the school grounds to the first several meters of the Forest.

 

 

Landing quickly, he set aside the broom and tightened his shields. He reached towards his pockets and groaned in sudden realization.

 

 

He had no wand.

 

 

His old Holly wand was broken beyond repair, victim to his hastily thought out strategy to ensure that he would not be encumbered by the restraints of the wand core when he did future battle with the Dark Lord.

 

This left him in a bind. While he fancied himself a fair bit proficient in the use of wandless magic, as he was now, he knew that he couldn't be certain of being able to match the lethal skills of a trained Death Eater.

 

 

How could he gain access to a wand in time to head off the rapidly approaching Crouch?

 

 

He scowled, mind racing furiously at the dilemma he found himself in.

 

 

 _This won't work at all,_ he realized. _Without a suitable wand like my old one or the Elder Wand..._

 

 

Then, he hissed in annoyance.

 

 

He was such an idiot sometimes. Of course! He still held mastery over the Deathly Hallows!

 

  
He recalled the instruction he had been given by the Messenger, to immediately lay claim to the three Hallows upon his return...

 

 

  
Closing his eyes, Harry began to focus and center himself, allowing himself to fall into a light trance. He delved deep within himself, seeking out a specific thread of magic that he associated with the Elder Wand. It seemed to take several minutes before he detected a tightly interwoven, triune bundle of threads that veered sharply away from each other. One thread stretched out in the direction of England. The other two were far closer, though only one stretched out to the private tower of the institution's Headmaster.

 

 

Harry took a deep breath as he 'plucked' the tendril representing his connection to the ancient wand.

 

 

Time to see if what he had suspected when hearing the Messenger's words turned out to be true.

 

 

 _Wand of Antinious_ , he thundered in his mind, _TO ME_.

 

 

He stretched out his hand, as he repeated his imperious demand, twice more.

 

 

Then he felt his connection surge as shadow and vapour appeared above him, shifting and solidifying until a long piece of wood dropped into his hand.

 

 

Harry stumbled back, as his magic fairly roared as it leapt from within and swirled within and around the centuries old wood. Harry squinted, for it seemed that lines of a living emerald fire were sinking into the grooves and crevices of the wand. A swell of warmth filled him, as he glanced at the handsome wood with carvings of elderberries all along its length.

 

 

"Welcome back, my friend," whispered the confirmed Master of the Hallows.

 

 

Eyes alight with power, Harry sensed the aura of the false Mad Eye, as he halted at the abrupt swell in magic just several feet away from where Harry stood.

 

 

Canceling the Disillusionment Charm, Harry pointed at the spot where he sensed Crouch standing, and silently summoned the older man's Invisibility cloak.

 

 

"Good evening, Professor," whispered Harry quietly. "Whatever could you possibly be doing, out of bounds on a night like this?"

 

 

He carefully maintained a disinterested expression on his face, though he longed to cackle as he saw the blood drain right out of the ruined face of 'Mad-Eye Moody', good eye widening in horror as he leaped back as if from a particularly rabid nundu.

 

"Potter!", gasped the fake Moody, as he backed away. "What devilry is this?!"

 

 

"Don't you know, Professor?", continued the younger wizard as he stepped forward towards the very edge of the wards that would block apparition on or out of Hogwarts. "The school is in a state of mourning. I have it on very good authority that one of the Champions was unfortunate enough to die in a fatal encounter with the Dark Lord."

 

 

He sneered at the look of intense confusion and fear that crossed the face of the disguised Crouch.

 

 

"But then," he said rather casually, "you were already aware of that, weren't you Moody? Or rather, Bartimeus Crouch?"

 

 

Intense dismay filled the man's features at that. Harry shook his head mockingly.

 

 

"Oh Barty," he sighed, "I must confess, you had me completely fooled. To think, all this time you were the one fixing events to give me the nudge to finish first in the Tournament? Just so you could offer me up as a sacrificial lamb to your beloved Master? That jumped up filthy beast? That was quite cold of you. I almost feel insulted."

 

 

The fake Moody snarled, spittle flying as his fear apparently faded, to be replaced by wounded pride for his master.

 

 

  
"You dare speak of my Master?!", roared Crouch. "You, the worthless half-blood spawn of Mudblood filth, and unworthy blood traitors?!"

 

 

Harry paused for a moment, as if in thought before pasting on an earnest expression.

 

 

"Why...yes," he said brightly. "I do."

 

 

As Crouch snarled in rage, to Harry's faint surprise, he noticed an uncontrollable twitching along Crouch's cheek.

 

 

 _He must be reaching the limit of his polyjuice,_ realized Harry, his chest thrilling with excitement. _If I can hold him off for a few more moments..._

 

 

Raising the newly claimed Elder Wand, he shot off a series of red sparks, as he slowly began walking towards the Death Eater before him.

 

 

"I understand that you're a busy man Crouch, so I won't detain you with witty conversation any longer. You're free to go."

 

 

Mockingly, he swept forward in a low bow as Crouch, confused and wary, began to draw out his wand.

 

 

"But before you leave," said Harry as he raised his wand in grave salute, "I have a message for you to pass to your precious Dark Lord."

 

 

_'BOMBARDA!'_

 

 

 

**o0o0o0o0o0o**

 

 

The private meeting that was taking place within the confines of the Headmaster's office, could hardly be described as warm or encouraging.

 

 

In the hours since receiving the horrifying 'gift' of young Harry's body, Albus had been ensconced in his tower with a distraught and raging Sirius Black.

 

 

When Sirius heard the news that his godson had perished during the events of the Third Task, the younger man, recently escaped from Azkaban had flown into a rage, the likes Albus had not seen in recent memory.

 

 

Sirius had virtually demolished the room as he raged against Albus for neglecting to set appropriate safeguards in place to mitigate the possibility of Harry being harmed. He cursed everyone involved in the Tournament, before breaking down in wracking sobs right there at Albus' feet.

 

 

The meeting that was now being held, after repairing the devastation visited by Sirius Black of course, was a somber meeting with very little to lighten the grief of the individuals involved.

 

 

Only a very few were gathered together at this time: Minerva of course, who had been apprised of the innocence of her former student; Severus, who had just returned from ingratiating himself to the revived Voldemort and gleaning news; Sirius, who had never left the room after his breakdown, and now sat as still as a statue; and finally, Remus, who he had Minerva summon as a support for his friend, and to inform him of the tragic news. He was sitting next to Sirius, one hand threaded through his as he focused on Severus' report.

 

 

Albus narrowed his eyes thoughtfully as he considered the Potions Professor. He was far paler than he had been before his departure, and every now and then he trembled all over, undoubtedly an aftereffect of exposure to the Cruciatus Curse. It pained Albus to force the younger man to give his report so soon after his harrowing experience, but they had no choice. With Harry gone, they would need every scrap of news available to immediately launch a campaign to halt Voldemort in his tracks. There would only be a narrow window of time to act, while he was still vulnerable. He re-directed his attention to his colleague's report.

 

 

 

"...and, it seems to be clear that only the immediate Inner Circle and those in the periphery of their influence have currently been summoned," said Severus, his dark eyes narrowed in a rather unpleasant grimace. "All of the those assembled were masked and cloaked, though I recognized a fair few. I observed Nott, Macnair, Avery, but oddly enough, there was no sign of the rat."

 

 

At this, he threw a penetrating glance at Remus, who's face had tightened upon hearing the name, though Sirius appeared to be lost in thought. Nonplussed, Severus stared at his rival for a long moment before moving on.

 

 

"Lucius Malfoy was present as well. All appear to be somewhat out of favor with the Dark Lord. He will be expecting them to make pointed gestures to prove their worth."

 

 

Minerva shook her head, very much disturbed, but before she could speak, Albus chose to cut to what had been troubling him for the entire duration of the Tournament.

 

 

"Has Tom revealed anything about how he regained his corporeal form? How he managed to summon Harry and Cedric to the place of his revival?"

 

 

Severus shook his head, and clenched his trembling fingers.

 

 

"He has not made it known to those of us who were not present at his revival, save for one thing."

 

 

Albus' eyes sharpened, and he found himself leaning forward as he listened carefully to what his spy was about to say. All around him, he could see Minerva and Remus take note of his tone.

 

 

"The Dark Lord said only that he had put in place a loyal follower who ensured that Potter would be the one to claim the Triwizard Cup, who altered the trajectory of the Cup to deliver it to the Dark Lord, instead of to the maze entrance. Somehow, he has an agent within these halls, working on his behalf. It would have to be someone with a great deal of influence as well as a propensity for obscure charms and enchantments. As is clearly obvious, only a limited number of potential candidates could be guilty of conspiring with the Dark Lord."

 

 

Minerva gasped, and Remus and Sirius' faces grew thunderous at the implication:

 

 

Someone either on staff, or associated with the Triwizard Tournament was allied to Voldemort and had sabotaged the Tournament from its inception.

 

 

But who?

 

 

  
"Kakaroff," spat Sirius, his eyes alight with an unholy gleam. "There could be no one else."

 

 

"Possible," replied Severus, his face unusually thoughtful, "but unlikely."

 

 

 

"Oh?", inquired Remus politely.

 

 

"Kakaroff is _persona non grata_ with the Dark Lord at present. For his 'crimes' of betrayal of the Death Eaters and selling their identities for his own life, there is little hope that he will be welcomed back into the Dark Lord's ranks; no, far more likely that he will flee into the night in the near future. He will want to set as much space as possible between himself and any sympathizers of the Dark Lord. In addition, the fool is terrified of the resurgence of the Dark Mark. He knows what the resurrection of his old Master would mean for himself. He all but advocated immediate flight when he accosted me during the festivities of the Yule Ball. He is craven, and a fool, but he is not the trusted ally of the Dark Lord."

 

 

Sirius scoffed, and glared at Severus who glared right back. Before the pair could begin throwing potential insults, Albus held up a hand, to halt the potential war of words.

 

 

"I believe that Severus is correct," he said firmly. "As unpleasant a fellow as he can be, I recall the events of his trial. He was terrified to spend even a moment longer than he had to in Azkaban, and was overwhelmingly desperate to implicate as many individuals as possible to secure his own release. And Tom is not a forgiving Master."

 

 

Scowling, Sirius fell silent.

 

 

 

"Is it possible," ventured Minerva, "that he might have placed someone under the Imperius Curse, and had them interfere? I can certainly think of someone who would prove susceptible to such a strategy, and had a heavy hand in the planning of the events."

 

"You mean, Bagman?" asked Remus, slightly disbelievingly. "I would admit, it would have some strategic value in using someone as oblivious as him, but he hardly possesses the mastery of magic necessary to circumvent the protections placed on the Cup or the Goblet. His skills were average at best, if memory serves me correct. Nothing like that one student who was top of his year, shortly before our departure. The son of Director Crouch. Wasn't he also named Barty?"

 

  
Albus' eyes widened at that, his mind racing as threads of recently recalled memory concerning Barty Crouch Jr. and his trial, his academic background while a student and most disturbing, the conversation he had with Harry Potter days ago in which he insisted that he had seen Barty in a recurring dream over the past summer. Coupled with that flashed a recent conversation with Severus concerning missing ingredients in his storage...

 

 

Could it be possible? But how? And if true, who could he be disguised as?

 

 

He turned to Snape, intending to ask some follow up questions, but just then he felt a lightning bolt of pain arc through him and the sensation of something deeper than flesh and blood 'snapping'. He grunted, falling back against his chair and pressing both hands to his head as bursts of pain radiated through him.

 

 

"Albus?", gasped Minerva, as she shot out of her seat and dashed to his side. The other men at the table abruptly stopped their debate as they noticed his unsettled state.

 

 

"What the bloody hell?!" exclaimed Sirius, as Albus released a pain ladened moan as that tearing sensation continued, "What's happening, Dumbledore?"

 

 

Snape jumped out of his seat and withdrew his wand to run diagnostic scans, but they all were pushed away as a miniature shockwave of power burst from the aged wizard, knocking them either back to their seats, or unto the floor.

 

 

His mouth dropped open in a manner quite unlike himself as he saw Albus Dumbledore's wand leap from its hiding place and hover momentarily in the air, vibrating with a mysterious force before transmuting into a thin column of a dark, and shadowy vapor before fading away.

 

 

What just happened?

 

 

Albus groaned, as the pain reached an almost overwhelming crescendo, before fading away. He slumped in his chair, feeling as if he had been in a duel lasting several hours. He lay in his seat, gasping as his body slowly recovered. It was a few minutes before he began to stir.

 

 

"What...what happened?" he whispered, raising his head to see his two guests staring horrified at him, while his two colleagues bore frighteningly near-identical looks that nearly resembled panic...

 

 

"Al..Albus," said Minerva faintly, "your wand..."

 

 

 

Frowning, he extended his arm and focused on summoning his wand to his grasp...only to blanch, as he felt a void where his connection to his wand was once a soothing and familiar bond, cultivated in the nearly sixty years since they had been united together.

 

 

For him to have lost the mastery of the Elder Wand...

 

 

He was saved from having to respond as a chorus of loud voices were heard, as the door abruptly opened, admitting Professors Flitwick and Sprout who served as the Heads of Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff respectively.

 

 

The pair were quite a sight. Professor Sprout was in her night wear, her hair flying wildly every which way. Filius was little better, still fully robed, but a look of worrisome shock on his face, on both their faces that boded ill. The fact was compounded by Mister Filch, who was clutching his feline companion, Mrs. Norris closely to his chest.

 

 

"Student out of bed!" exclaimed Filch. "Student out of bed, headmaster! Out near the edge of the Forest!"

 

 

He exchanged a panicked look to the Ravenclaw Head of House, who swiftly picked up the tale.

 

 

"Bad news, Albus!" squeaked Filius. "You're expertise is needed, desperately! It's old Alastor! He's lost his mind!"

 

 

"What are you three blithering about?" Severus snapped, a thunderous scowl on his face. "What has Alastor done now?"

 

 

"Oh, it's simply awful!" exclaimed Pomona, wringing her hands in distress. "He's gone and started a duel with poor Mr. Potter! And after the poor boy arrived in such miserable shape earlier this evening!"

 

 

"WHAT?! HE'S DUELING _HARRY_?!"

 

 

 

In a blur, Sirius had shifted into his familiar Animagus form, a black Grim, and bolted past the three startled staff members, furious barking echoing down the spiral staircase.

 

 

Before he could comprehend the fantastical words that had just left Professor Sprout's mouth, Albus found himself whistling sharply in summons of his trusted companion, Fawkes.

 

 

The Phoenix flashed in the office in a column of flame, a high pitched cry sounding as he flew overhead.

 

 

"Everyone! Grab hold of Fawkes at once!" Albus bellowed, as he clung to his familiar's tail feathers. Quickly, Minerva, Severus, Remus, Filius, Pomona, and poor Mr. Filch grabbed hold, and soon a brilliant, searing flash of light and flame illuminated the room as the phoenix flamed out of the office.

 

 

The group of witches and wizards appeared near the very entrance of the Forest, where a scene that minutes ago, any one of the grief stricken people meeting together would have told you was absolutely impossible was taking place before their very eyes:

 

 

Alastor 'Mad Eye' Moody, notorious Auror, and the current professor for Defense Against the Dark Arts was cursing furiously, strange tremors wracking his figure as the teenage boy, who had portkeyed out of the Maze, dead, was moving as if he had been completely unharmed! Unlike his opponent, he was taut and grimly focused, not speaking at all save for the occasional spell that he bit off as he stabbed time and time again towards his far older, and far better trained adversary.

 

 

Albus could only blink in dumb amazement. What kind of magic was this? How was it possible for a young man who had been declared deceased by a certified and celebrated Mediwitch not three hours ago, to be exchanging a furious round of spells in a battle that no child should be capable of pursuing?

 

 

He wondered for a minute if he was hallucinating, but as he glanced at the faces of Severus and Minerva, he saw that both had turned deathly pale, as did Remus, eyes glowing amber as he stood frozen at the unprecedented tableau in front of them.

 

 

A furious bark sounded, and the great big frame of the Grim loped into view, changing quickly to the still somewhat emaciated form of Sirius Black, who howled in glee as he witnessed his godson in battle.

 

 

  
Spells passed so quickly between the battling wizards, that not even Remus could catch the specific incantations that flew between the battling pair. The air was alive, twisted and burning with the heavy weight of Magic.

 

 

A massive sonicboom sent waves of concussive force in every direction. Swiftly, Albus drew on his vast reservoir of power and cast a wandless protective barrier, which flashed a baleful blue as the magic smashed against its surface.

 

 

 _Impossible_ , thought Albus faintly as he witnessed the titanic forces that were being brought to bear. Such magic is simply impossible. Nothing can bring back the dead. How then, could young Harry be standing here in perfect health, radiating magic such as he never did in life?

 

 

For Severus Snape's part, as he watched the son of his most hated rival trading blows with one of Voldemort's most loyal, tears unknowingly streamed down his face. For the first time since he had laid eyes upon the near doppelganger of the late James Potter, he didn't see his foe. Instead, he saw fiery auburn tresses in his mind's eye, and saw the gleam of identical emerald eyes, glowing with pure power as the wand twisted in the intricate patterns that bespoke an instinctive talent for charmwork.

 

 

For the first time, he acknowledged that in a way, Harry was truly his mother's son.

 

 

 _Look at him Lily,_ he thought as he witnessed the impossible, _what magic have you wrought?_

 

 

Minerva's hand was clamped over her mouth as she beheld the student that if she were brutally honest to herself, she was most fond of, blocked what she recognized to be two lethal dark spells that were designed to affect the heart of their victims, and dove to the side as the deadly jade light of the Killing Curse smote the ground where he had been standing seconds ago.

 

 

Breathlessly, she watched Harry stand, a vicious grin on his face as he raised a wand that looked alarmingly like Albus' wand which had disappeared only minutes ago.

 

 

"Is this the best you can bring, Death Eater?" Minerva heard the fourteen year old snarl as he made two intricate swishes and slashed upward.

 

 

_'Irretite!'_

 

 

She watched, shocked as thick vines shot out of the earth like giant tentacles and whipped themselves towards Alastor, who roared as he stumbled back, slashing wildly at the thick roots as they attempted to wrap themselves around him.

 

 

 _Death Eater?_ How could he accuse Moody, one of the most celebrated and legendary Aurors of the 21st century of serving He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? What was he playing at?

 

 

She blanched when Moody furiously waved his wand, setting the enchanted vines alight with a fire spell. As he growled, she gasped as she saw his face twist unnaturally, looking for a brief second like a completely different man!

 

 

"This is the end, Potter!" screamed Moody, his eyes alight with uncharacteristic cruelty and madness.

 

 

_'AVADA KEDAVRA!'_

 

 

A few feet away, Sirius Black howled and threw himself forward, only to be bowled back by the barrier erected by Albus.

 

 

She wasn't even aware that she too was screaming as the wave of death surged towards the boy point blank.

 

 

But Harry, it appeared had quite a few tricks up his sleeve.

 

 

He jabbed his wand at a patch of earth a few steps away and a huge chunk of the grassy terrain was ripped up and banished towards the magical discharge.

 

 

The two opposing objects collided and disintegrated into glowing green particles that fell towards the ruined patch of ground, but Harry wasn't done yet.

 

 

Pushing forward his wand, he bellowed:

 

 

_'Vincire!'_

 

 

She gasped again, as an iridescent green light exploded out of his wand, and smashed into Moody. The older man cried out as his face glowed green in the light of the spell.

 

 

The green light snaked around the body of the Auror, and locked into a concentric ring. Moody's head rocked back and he appeared frozen, as the emerald ring turned a cloudy grayish-blue.

 

 

Everyone was stunned as they witnessed the end of the miraculous duel.

 

 

Albus made to dissolve the barrier, but froze when Harry shot them a heated glare.

 

 

"STAND BACK."

 

 

Stunned, the adults watched as Harry raised his wand and concentrated on something. Two objects, flew from Moody and quivered in the air where his left hand was outstretched.

 

 

"Wait for it," they heard him mutter.

 

 

"Harry...," began Sirius, only to be cut off by an impatient slash.

 

 

Minerva looked closer and then reared back, as Pomona squealed and Flitwick cursed furiously.

 

 

Moody, bound by the mysterious magic cast by the boy who should be dead, began to writhe and twist. His face bulged and twisted, and appeared to be boiling.

 

 

With an sickening 'pop', Moody's magical eye plopped out of his head, rolling along the grass. His form seemed to shrink and fold in on himself. His metallic leg popped out and a new one formed in its place.

 

 

Stringy grey hair, became equally stringy dark blonde hair. The man's face became smoothed and looked very much like the face of someone who was also supposed to have been deceased for thirteen years.

 

 

All of the adults gasped at the unexpected sight that seemed even more impossible than Harry's presence.

 

 

"Oh my stars!"

 

 

"Can it be?"

 

 

"Morgana's musty knickers!"

 

 

Albus' eyes sharpened and the air around him grew thick with his magic fueled fury as so many unexplainable events neatly found their answers.

 

 

"Barty Crouch Jr. This explains many things. Might I ask what fascinating tokens you summoned from Barty, Harry?"

 

 

The boy smiled grimly and stared at Severus.

 

 

"I believe that if you inspect the remnants of what lies in this bottle, Professor, you will discover what has happened to your ingredients."

 

 

Severus Snape hissed at the realization, but remained silent, in an effort to maintain anonymity.

 

 

Harry stalked around the immobilized figure of Barty Crouch and upon completing his rotation, hissed an incantation that Albus was interested to see appeared to enable the bound wizard to talk and otherwise function, though his magic and physical body still appeared to be bound.

 

 

"Now, Barty...I require your use, as I believe I said that I have a message to pass to Voldemort."

 

 

The gathered adult wizard's and witches were very confused, as Harry stepped to the man's ear and started whispering for a moment. Then he moved to face him fully.

 

 

"Look at me."

 

 

Then he began to hiss, a long series of sibilant sounds that sounded almost like a song.

 

 

Next to him, both Sirius and Remus blanched, this being the first time they had ever witnessed their best friend's son speaking the language of serpents. While next to Minerva, Severus' eyebrows rose as he witnessed the phenomenon once more.

 

 

After concluding whatever Harry decided to say in private, the younger boy stepped back and flourished his wand again.

 

 

 _'Solutum',_ intoned Harry.

 

 

The binding field appeared to melt, and soon dissolved into nothingness, releasing Crouch, who briefly collapsed unto his knees. Harry stared down at him, with a strange look then. It appeared to be a mixture of disgust and pity.

 

 

"Leave now, while I still allow it," he said at last. "And Barty?"

 

 

He waited until the older man looked directly into his eyes. Whatever he was seeing in those eyes appeared to horrify him, for the man visibly recoiled.

 

 

"If you, or any of your misbegotten compatriots dare to step one foot upon the grounds of this school for any reason, fair or foul..."

 

 

The adults gasped as the tip of the wand began to glow with the sickly green color of the Killing Curse.

 

 

The boy's voice turned hard.

 

 

"Get. Out."

 

 

Shuddering, Barty Crouch Jr turned tail and dashed towards the safety of the Forest. Minutes later, a muffled 'crack' announced his Disapparating.

 

 

Harry's wand arm lowered, and he swayed on his feet as he turned to face the astounded group assembled behind a powerful magical barrier. The boy appeared to be exhausted and tiredly waved at them all.

 

 

"Well," he huffed out faintly. "That was jolly good fun."

 

 

 

Holding up his hand, the teen focused and soon the two objects he claimed from Barty were zooming towards Professor Snape and Dumbledore. 

 

 

 

Both men managed to snatch the objects presented to them with ease. Albus looked over his object, a set of wrought iron keys. He snapped his eyes to Harry, who nodded imperceptibly towards him.

 

 

 

"I believe that you'll find Auror Moody locked in a specialized trunk, in the private office of our Defense Professor," Harry murmured. "I'd hurry if I were you. I rather doubt that he's doing well at all."

 

 

 

As Albus' hands tightened over the keys he had received, Harry began to sway on his feet.

 

 

 

"Don't mind me, I'll just take a quick kip then."

 

 

 

Then he collapsed unto the ground, in a faint.

 

 

 

 

**o0o0o0o0o**

 

 

 

**The Bifrost Bridge**

**Asgard**

 

 

It was with deliberate, and ponderous steps that the tall figure, clothed in golden vestments and bearing the sacred battle spear Gugnir, made his way along the prismatic, crystalline bridge to the place where once stood an august Observatory, from where those with the Sight could peer, unhindered throughout the multitude of planetary systems that made up the Nine Realms. That chamber no longer stood, jagged crystal marking the spot where a titanic battle had taken place in the recent past.

 

 

The figure was a man; aged in appearance, and bearded with a mane of long white hair. Though he was old, even for one of his people, the man walked with measured grace, assured in his mastery of his territory.

 

 

For he was Odin, Bor's son; Known throughout the length and breadth of his realm as the All-Father, High King of Asgard, and Protector of the Nine Realms.

 

 

As he approached, he could see the behemoth guardian who stood before the damaged bridge, a massive golden blade in his hand that thrummed with barely concealed power. Clad with a golden helmet, the dark skinned guardian bowed deeply at his approach.

 

  
“Welcome All-Father,” rumbled the deep tones of his faithful sentinel, Heimdall. “You have come at a good time. Thor has only a short time past departed from his nightly vigil before the gate.”

 

  
The All-Father sighed irritably as he halted beside Heimdall. He pursed his lips as he stared at the shattered Rainbow Bridge, the work of his eldest in an attempt to prevent his own brother from channeling and using the full force of the gateway to wipe out the civilization of Jotunheim.

 

 

“Though he has grown much in the trials of recent past, still Thor is defiant and willful. It is beneath him to dwell overmuch on the mortal woman. Their paths will not cross again. He must turn himself to take thought for his own people.”

 

  
The Guardian did not respond, but kept his silence in the presence of his King. Though he would not gainsay his sworn Lord, he did not believe that the paths of the Prince and the mortal Midgardian woman would fall away from each other so soon. Even now, he Saw the mortal known as Jane Foster frantically searching her notes as she attempted to condense into the limited human language the basic calculations needed to access the portal that would lead her to the Realm Eternal. Unbidden, his lips twitched as a small smile graced them. Her determination to be reunited with the one who had touched her heart was steadfast and firm. Thor had found a worthy potential bride. Even if she was crippled by the burden of her mortality.

 

 

Odin stared silently out into the surging falls of the cosmic water, his gaze piercing the countless stars and systems that wheeled about in the great Dance. Much like his heir, his heart was set on one being in particular.

 

 

 

A stab of guilt and grief flashed through him. It had been three weeks and still no sign or whisper of his wayward son. Even now, he could hear the desperate shout of his youngest as he clung to the spear Gungnir:

 

 

  
_I could have done it Father! I could have done it! For you! For all of us!_

 

  
Pained, Odin shut his eye as he remembered his short and clipped response, and the look of devastation and grief that shone so nakedly from the face of the one known throughout the Nine Realms as the ‘Silvertongue’. Fool that he was! He had not meant to reject his youngest—and no matter what Loki may have thought, to Odin he was never a political hostage, but always his precious and beloved youngest—when he had said those words. And then his boy relinquished his hold on Gungnir, and fallen through the destabilized wormhole into the unfathomable depths of space.

 

 

  
It was with an effort that Odin pushed away the pain of loss and regained his composure. Though his heart may be riven and torn, he could not afford weakness. He had no choice but to remain stern and uncompromising, a strong ruler. Due to Loki’s actions, the Realms had plunged into chaos. The task of pacifying the territories would take at least a full cycle, maybe two; for the Bifrost was slowly reforming, coaxed little by little through his own power. Asgard’s reputation would suffer dreadfully in the interim, but it could not be helped.

 

  
Banishing his morbid thoughts, Odin trained all of his senses on his companion standing guard over the realms.

 

  
“Has Loki Odinson been sighted, old friend?” asked Odin neutrally.

 

  
“No, my King.”

 

 

  
The golden eyes of Heimdall narrowed as the ancient Asgardian swept his gaze through countless world systems and galaxies contained within the territory of the Nine Realms. He frowned after a moment, then shook his head.

 

 

 

  
“No,” repeated the Guardian solemnly, “Loki is now far beyond my sight. I can neither See him, nor sense any trace of his presence within any of the Realms; It is clear that he must be in the Outer Realms…if he has survived.”

 

 

  
“He has survived!” snapped Odin. “He is a son of the House of Odin! He would not be unmade so easily.”

 

 

  
Heimdall remained silent, acknowledging the words of the King. They did not speak again for long moments as Odin mused, until the Gatekeeper turned slightly.

 

 

  
“In spite of the grievous loss, there is still cause for hope. Thor Odinson acquitted himself well, throughout the trial of his punishment. He has proven himself to be a true Prince of Asgard, and a worthy successor.”

 

  
“Aye, the boy is learning, at last.” Despite his grief, Odin found himself smiling as he recalled the flashes of Thor’s exile which he had witnessed within his Odinsleep. Though he had been plagued with arrogance, disrespect, and a foul spirit of war-mongering, Thor had overcome his defects and completed the lessons that Odin had tried to teach him for millenia and in earnest for the past thirty years. How ironic that it took two separate cases of banishment for the child to become a man.

 

 

But at such cost…

 

  
Odin knew that though Thor may have kept silent over the weeks since the destruction of the Bifrost and the loss of Loki, still he mourned for his brother. They had rarely been apart for centuries. Regardless of his heritage, Odin knew that Thor considered Loki as his own flesh, blood and bone.

 

  
“I have grown weak, and decadent. Foolish,” he murmured into the vast space, “to the point that I can not even command my own House. I have protected the lives of over ten trillion souls these many long years, and yet, my hubris has threatened the integrity and stability of Asgard.”

 

  
As he turned to fully face Heimdall, Odin caught the frown that had graced the brow of the Gatekeeper. Heimdall stared impassively at the old king.

 

  
“Mistakes you may have made in your dealings with your heirs,” said the gold-clad warrior, “but yours was not the only mistakes, or choices. Your sons each made decisions, some good and some not so good, which have led us to this moment in the annals of our fate. Each must bear their own responsibility for where they are. The Norns may weave the web, but we direct the tapestry of our fate.”

 

  
“Aye, your words are but the truth,” agreed Odin. His eyes narrowed as Heimdall opened his mouth, hesitated a moment, then glanced at his King.

 

 

  
“There are…some among the King’s Councilors who have begun to whisper, rumors that the King will strike Loki from the annals of the Kings. They bay for his humiliation and disgrace.”

 

  
“And they will continue to bay still longer.” Odin snarled. “Though he will face punishment, never will my children be stricken from my own lineage! In spite of his actions, he is a Prince of Asgard! I am not so weak yet that I must rely on the goodwill of my councilors to maintain my throne!”

 

  
Heimdall lowered his head. “That is so, my King. However, the clash between your sons here as well as on Midgard has reverberated throughout the Realms and even beyond.”

 

  
Odin stiffened, then gave a heavy sigh.

 

 

“You speak but truth, Heimdall. Even now, I feel the Shadows stirring in a way that I have not since the war against the Frost Giants of old. I fear that many eyes will be turning towards Midgard.”

 

  
“That is so my King,” said Heimdall solemnly, “we must double our watch over all the realms, but particularly that one. Though Midgard has long been considered a primitive realm at best, it remains a jewel within the crown of Asgard. And it’s people are growing rapidly, developing greater weapons and awareness of what lies beyond their reach. If we are not—”

 

  
His voice trailed off into the vacuum of space. Nonplussed, Odin’s eye narrowed as Heimdall peered intently into the vast cosmos for a long moment then stiffened, eyes widening a fraction at a vision that only he could see. It was many long moments later that Heimdall relaxed his gaze, though a hint of worry marred the normally impassive countenance of his Gatekeeper.

 

  
“What have you seen?” questioned Odin sharply. It was rare indeed when any sight could disturb the countenance of Heimdall—such occurrences were never to be taken lightly, as such portents indicated a crisis of some kind. A tension rose as Heimdall visibly hesitated before turning towards his King.

 

  
“My King, I have just caught a glimpse of a great battle. It involves one who has been forbidden to be named within these realms. May I speak?”

 

  
A chill passed through the ancient King. There were few who were Forbidden to be named within these realms, and if Heimdall spoke of a recent battle, then it could only be one being…

 

  
Grasping Gungnir tightly, Odin gave his permission to speak. His fear grew when Heimdall knelt upon one knee, head bowed as he faced his King.

 

  
“The boy,” whispered Odin, his grip on his spear now so tight that any lesser artifact would have splintered, “does he still live?”  
Slowly, Heimdall raised his head and stared into the eye of his King.

 

  
“He lives...though it appears that he has tasted Death, and walked in the realm of spirit."

 

  
Odin released a massive sigh, face losing color as he swayed for a moment, remaining upright only by his spear. He snapped his gaze upon the kneeling being.

 

  
“Speak Heimdall,” he said harshly, “and leave nothing out.”

 

  
Wordlessly he listened as Heimdall revealed the vision that had arrested his attention so, revealing every detail of the vision depicting the great battle of sorcery that had just taken place upon Midgard, filled with great fear and yet great pride as the child’s exploits were recounted.

 

  
“He faced certain death boldly and battled fiercely not only for his own life, but also the life of his fallen shield brother,” concluded Heimdall as he drew to the end of his account. “Though he faced a foe far beyond his power, he gained a marked victory and upheld the honor of his father’s House. He has brought great honor to you this night All-Father, though he does not know it.”

 

  
Odin’s eye gleamed with pride and affection.  
“He is truly a son of the House of Odin. The blood of Asgard runs true in him.”

 

  
“That is so, my King.” Heimdall rose from his kneeling position and faced Odin. “Though a boy, he has fought like a man. Through his strength, he has received the favor of the Ancient Ones, and stands poised to make a great impact on Midgard in the coming days; and yet, you are troubled my King. Concerning the Little One.”

 

  
Impassively Odin stared into the face of his closest advisor, then sighed.  
“Yes,” admitted the Asgardian King, “I am troubled. At times I wonder why must I continually bring torment upon my family. How long must they be punished, Heimdall? How long must we remain bereft?”

 

  
The naked question echoed into the void of space as the two Asgardians bore their watch into the distance. Heimdall remained silent for a time but then stirred.

 

  
“My King,” he said, “you know that the decision you made those many years was necessary. It was not borne out of evil intent, but in the interest of maintaining the security and balance of the Nine Realms. You know as well as I the circumstances surrounding the Little One’s birth. His fate has been woven by the Norns into the tapestry of Midgard itself, for a time. There was no other choice that could have preserved both the child’s life, and the integrity of the Realms. The Royal Blessing preserved his life when he should have died, and the heritage he has received from the House of Odin will ensure his survival. In time he will understand.”

 

  
“Will Thor?” questioned the aged King dryly. “Should he recover the memories that were hidden from him, will he accept the wisdom of my decision? Will my firstborn grant me forgiveness and absolution for what I have stolen from him?”

 

  
“He will understand,” replied Heimdall, firmly. “You know that his anger will be hot. That will be unavoidable. You know however that his mind would have shattered had you not stripped him of his memories of his mortal life and death to preserve his sanity. Had that decision not have been made, Thor would have been lost to you and Midgard would have been devastated by his rage and grief.”

 

  
Odin held Heimdall’s gaze for a while, then turned and stared into the vast oceans of the cosmos. He could not withhold the tear that escaped him, plummeting into the void. He leaned onto his spear, feeling the full weight of his years press upon his shoulders.  
“You speak naught but the truth, Heimdall. Yet I wish that this did not have to be so.”

 

  
The warm, but heavy hand of his advisor rested upon his shoulder. Odin turned and saw the sympathy and understanding on the face of Heimdall, a sight that was almost never seen by any being within the Nine Realms.

 

  
“Take heart my King,” rumbled the deep, yet strangely soothing voice of the Gatekeeper. “Though the separation has been long, even now I perceive that the Norns are slowly weaving the patterns that will reunite the father with the son. However until Thor regains what he has lost, you cannot directly intervene. You must let the strands of Fate take their destined course.”

 

  
Nodding pensively, Odin turned back to the rippling oceans of cosmic order, Heimdall withdrawing his hand and backing away to give him space. He remained there for many long moments, focusing his thoughts upon the counsel of his servant. Only after what was the equivalent of several Midgardian units of time, hours, did he stir from his lonely watch. Turning towards the rainbow path he whistled, an enchanted song piercing the air, carrying forth his royal command. It was not long before Odin saw two dark specks moving from the direction of the Citadel, swiftly winging their way to his side. Raising one of his arms, he waited until the specks resolved into the forms of two large ravens. As they settled themselves upon his arm, Odin quickly recalled the counsel of Heimdall.

 

  
“Huginn! Muninn! Give heed to me,” ordered Odin sharply, waiting until they quieted themselves. When they were ready, he drew then near to him.

 

  
“You will go at once to Midgard and bear watch over the Little One. Do not leave his side, but observe him. Study his health, and observe if any seeks to do him harm. You must not be seen or detected by the Midgardians. Should his life be endangered, fly swiftly back and alert me at once. Is my will plain to you?”

 

  
A series of harsh caws assured him that indeed it was so. With a heave, Odin released his Messengers. Faster than any mortal ravens, the pair quickly flew off into the void of space. Odin nodded in grim satisfaction. The feisty pair of Ravens had the power to traverse the Nine Realms, independent of the Bifrost, making them invaluable allies and among his most efficient spies when he required information from the Realms. They would do their assigned Task well. He directed his steps towards the Citadel, pausing briefly.

 

  
“Keep your eyes upon the child, Heimdall.” Odin commanded. Heimdall bowed at the directive.

 

  
“As you command, All-Father.”

 

  
As Odin strode towards the golden Citadel, the ancient guardian of the Bifrost turned back towards the oceans of space. His eyes sharpened as they focused untold trillions of miles upon a teenage boy who slept quietly in a hospital bed. Dried tear tracks on his face betrayed the tumultuous emotions that he had been enduring for the past several hours. There were others around his bedside, looking anxiously at the boy and speaking to each other in low tones, but Heimdall did not pay attention to them. His gaze was only upon the boy.

 

  
“Good luck Little One,” murmured Heimdall. “Your feet may yet tread upon the Bifrost far sooner than any could imagine. You are the beginning of a shift in the balance. The fate of Midgard rests upon your shoulders. May the blessings of the Wise One rest upon you.”

 

He nodded approvingly as he saw the messengers of Odin take their positions upon either side of the bed. They would stay hidden from the sight of the Midgardians and take up their watch over the boy.

 

  
His gaze lingered upon the sigil etched into his forehead, even now preserving the boy’s soul. The protection was holding then.

 

“Good luck, son of Thor," Heimdall whispered into the cosmic void.

 

  
He would need very scrap of it.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings and Salutations!
> 
> I'm humbled by the amazing response I've received from readers of this story. Thanks again for your comments and your questions. 
> 
> With this chapter, we now get a first peek into the events that are transpiring in the MCU side of things. This introduces two of the major MCU stories that will serve as the primary connective tissue linking the world of Harry Potter to the wider Marvel world. 
> 
> While the immediate chapters to follow will focus on the Harry Potter world, expect a few cameos from familiar characters before we take a deep dive into Marvel goodness!
> 
> A quick update: I'm almost 100% positive that I will try something that will be a bit of an experiment for me: working on two stories in the series. 
> 
> As most fans of the MCU know, Avengers Infinity War comes out in less than two weeks. I want to start posting the initial chapters that sets up Harry's inclusion in the events that lead into Infinity War. Once I get the chance to see the movie proper, I hope to be able to post the first chapter that has him directly involved in my version of Infinity War. 
> 
> If my story plotting pans out, the sequel of this story will start posting on the Tuesday before the opening weekend of IW. 
> 
> As always, I'd love to hear from you! Feel free to share your comments, questions, suggestions, or even constructive criticism for this story. 
> 
> Enjoy the chapter!
> 
>  
> 
> 4/20/18: Just a minor edit. Added additional dialogue to the end of the fight scene between Harry and Crouch, to fix a minor plot hole. 
> 
> Also, I finally have gotten my plan for this series in order. This fic will be the first of three main entries that will detail some of the changes Harry makes to his history between GOF and OotP, also setting things up for his inclusion in the events of the first Avengers. 
> 
> It's immediate sequel will cover more original content starting from the end of his sixth year up to the basic timeline of Civil War (though he will not get mixed up in that madness.)
> 
> The third entry will detail his involvement in the events of Thor Ragnarok into Infinity War and the eventual ploy of Avengers 4. The first chapter for the last entry will be posted next week and will be set seven years after this current entry.
> 
> Thanks for all of the comments and constructive criticisms!


	4. Author's Announcment- UPDATE 5/20/18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks and announcement of development for this series!

 

 

 5/19/18 Update:

 

 

The first revamped chapter for Countdown to Infinity is up! It's been posted as a separate story, so this note is to let readers of this series know where to go for further updates. The new story is entitled, Countdown to Infinity: The Hidden Prince. 

 

Except a number of new chapters in the coming days. Again, a huge thanks for everyone who has read and been so supportive of this story! 


End file.
